Strong Heart
by IceCamaro
Summary: Trunks from the future pays a visit to his former self, realizing that the baby he left in his mother's arms is now nothing more than a corporate monster. MM
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z or any of the characters I have chosen to borrow for this story.

"Don't die because you're heart isn't strong enough to fight for life."

Strong Heart  
Chapter 1

He looked out the window, his face still planted sideways against the pillow; watching the sun high in the sky, rays warming the planes of the window seal. A body next to him churned slightly, the bed sheets moving with the other man, a blanket hog for certain. Trunks heard a groan, his eyes never leaving the outside world.

"You're still here." He stated coldly. He loved this part. Maybe even more than he loved the introduction to this part. The breaking, the domination, that look, that sniffle, that rejection that tore them up worse then any nine inch cock. Oh God, it was pure fucking poetry.

The man lifted himself off the pillows, supporting his weight on his elbows.

"Excuse me?" He asked, non-too-thrilled with his morning call.

Trunks lifted his body off the sheets, walking to his dresser drawers without the smallest glance in return for the man's question.

"That's what a one night stand is genius," he yawned, pulling on his dress pants. "For one night. Not for one night and a morning. Get out."

The man lifted himself into sitting position, face a mixture of confusion and anger.

"Hey man, fuck you!" he hollered, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to get dressed.

"Sorry," Trunks grinned, orgasmically loving this part. "Already did that. And trust me, I've had better."

The other man shook his head of dull brown hair, five o'clock shadow gracing the lines of his handsome face, the only reason Trunks had ever needed to pursue a straight, engaged man. Not that the challenge wasn't enough he supposed. A baby on the way, a gorgeous, glowing wife. God, fucking poetry once again. Like winning a war, only this time, there wasn't much of a battle before the ultimate victory.

Trunks watched the brunette's movements, his smile widening as he prepared for the final wrecking ball.

"Oh," he said as the man reached the door. "by the way, you're fired."

"What!"

Oh lord, the sniveling part. He could have busted one right in his pants.

"Company policy," he grinned. "No body fucks the boss. And don't worry about your darling wife, I'll make sure she gets a detailed description as to why you're no longer employed by capsule corp."

_**A/****n**Well, I thought I'd post this story here as well. It has been edited for content but I still believe it's an interesting read. IF you however would like to see it uncensored you can find that at Thanks for reading._


	2. Chapter 2

"Another one?" His secretary asked, running to keep up with him as they went down the staircase of the main building. "That's your sixth this week. Isn't that pushing it, even for you?"

He looked over at her, face void of any feeling or reaction.

"No." he grabbed an envelope away from her, opening it up and examining the papers inside.

"He'll be hard to replace," she grumbled, examining her own stack of documents.

"I pray you're referring to the company." He snorted.

l;l;l;l;l;l;l;l;l;l;l;l;l;l;

"Trunks, this obsession you have for sex is driving you mad," the doctor explained. "You use outward physical attachments in place of any emotional ones."

"Well," Trunks sighed, playing with the stress reliever ball his mother had given him. "Physical attachments are more exciting than anything emotional, doc. Less crap to accompany them, maximum pleasure, minimum bullshit."

The doctor sighed, leaning back into his red chair that clashed with the dreary tone of his office. He thumbed his beard, glancing over his glasses at the young man that sat so casually, flopped over the arm rest of his concentration couch. A young man so beautiful that it seemed Aphrodite herself would burn away with jealousy. Beautiful, stunning, yes, but monstrously detached from the world. Selfish, vain to the point of extreme narcissism and an undoubtedly cruel individual.

Like a fictional vampire, the president of such a lucrative company preyed upon his unsuspecting victims: one glance, one smile, one anything and they were offering their necks to him despite the well known price. For eight years he had watched the 24 year old grow, expand, mutate into this cold, calculating soldier, constantly on missions, constantly inventing new ways of torment.

At first, he had been unable to contemplate the 16 year old that had been sent to him, watching as the boy had so nonchalantly exposed his sexual preference in front of his mother, the doctor catching a glimpse of a smile when the poor woman burst into tears. He loved to shock, he loved attention, he thrived on the pain of others.

And the true horror of it was that there was no reason why. Serial killers, pedophiles, rapists- they have their reasons. Not excuses, but reasons. Trunks Briefs? He merely enjoyed it.

Perhaps inherited down from his sadistic father, rather then physically attacking people, Trunks adored nothing more than watching the reactions portrayed from a broken heart. He had more then 12 lovers at a time, men and women, that he would essentially date, leading them on for months, lying, playing, teasing their fickle human nature. And when he had gotten what he wanted, succeeded in thrilling them to the point of infatuation and sometimes even dangerous obsession, he would watch each emotion play out like a predictable movie right before his eyes. Like watching the same rerun over and over and over again…only, it never sated his need for it.

"Trunks," the doctor sighed again, getting out his notebook and pen. "Let's go through this again. Why don't YOU tell me what you think the problem is."

"Well that might be a tad difficult if I refuse to believe there is a problem, now wouldn't it?" he smartly replied.

"You hurt people for a hobby." The doctor looked at him squarely. "I used to believe it was because you couldn't inflict physical pain upon them that you compensated for emotional. But now, I don't believe anything would hold you back if you were inclined towards physical violence. But you're not. For eight years I've watched you grow, thinking, praying, imagining that you would shed this dreadful obsession. But you haven't. Rather, you've only honed your skills at it. Why do you enjoy hurting people Trunks?"

The tan face fell cold throughout the doctor's description, haunting blue eyes demanding silence. It was hard to look at Trunks. It was hard to stare into that ethereal face, those immaculate, God-like features and try to remember the monster behind the mask. The face of an angel and the soulless insides of a devil.

"I don't so much think I am hurting them, doc," the younger man replied, relaxing slightly. "It's all a matter of how you choose to see it. What is life without emotion, without pain? Answer me that. What more am I doing than supplying them with a crucial reminder of life? You act like I'm this heartless, savage beast when I'm simply renewing them. What is life but the emotions and interactions we have on the way to death?

"You say I give them pain. I provide them with LIFE! I make them feel, I make them love for the first time, make them feel as they've never felt in their lives. And I break them just the same, giving them that slap in the face that brings them out of a dream world and sinks them back into reality. I make them live as they have never lived before. And I fuck them mercilessly and thoughtlessly.

"You say I have a problem when you know it's a lie. The world would love to hate me but in all truth, people just want to BE me. I am the epitome of what these humans wish they were. They say they hate me? They ENVY me. Let the world drown itself in its emotional attachments. I do what I want, I say what I want, I fuck what I want and I give no apologies for it later. I have the qualities that people only dream of."

"Perhaps." Nodded the doctor. "Or perhaps it's the other way around."

The young saiyan's face went colder, all expression leaving.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Maybe you're envious of them Trunks. Maybe, deep down, you dream of experiencing what you can only inflict."

"Ludicrous." He spat.

"Maybe that's why you do it Trunks. Maybe that's why you give them pain. Maybe that's why you make them hurt. You do it because it's a gift of what you can never have. You give them feelings, Trunks."

"I think that's quite enough for today, don't you agree doctor." Trunks got to his feet, looking somewhat paler and less calm.

"Yes," the doctor sighed, nodding his head.

"God knows I wouldn't even come here if that wretched mother of mine didn't insist on it."

"You're mother is an astounding woman," the old man informed him. "She obviously cares about you very much."

"My mother is a withering old hag with a severe case of emotional diarrhea," he said wickedly, throwing his coat on. "See if you can cure that doctor."

"And how do you feel about your dad?" the doctor inquired, wanting to elongate the conversation as, for once, Trunks was expressing something that resembled emotion.

"My dad? You mean that distant piece of throbbing, rock hard cock that looks about two days older then me?" the younger man was enthralled by the look of disgust on the elder's face. "What? Does the idea of me wanting to fuck my daddy upset you doctor Camden?"

"You're trying to get a rise out of me." came the reply. "It won't work."

The young man sobered, smile melting slowly.

"Perhaps," he nodded. "Perhaps."


	3. Chapter 3

"So why are you here?" Vegeta asked, watching the gorgeous curvature of Mirai's mouth move to form words. "Trouble again?"

"Sort of, but not so much for here. Not now anyways," the older Trunks sighed, standing outside his Time Machine, breathing in the smoke and fumes. "My time."

"What about it?" The older man asked.

"Couldn't stay there." The half Saiyan answered bluntly. "The world was attacked by the second stream of the heart virus that killed Goku. They cured the first stream but somehow, the disease became immune to the medicine. It…." He looked away, refusing to show the pain to this version of his father, despite the price it cost him. "It killed them all. I'm surprised I escaped."

"Are you sure you did?" The Saiyan asked, arms crossed. "You could be a carrier."

"No," Trunks shook his head. "It's impossible. The disease kills you within hours and believe me, you feel it before then. I waited for as long as I could to be certain."

Vegeta examined the older version of his son, perhaps only 27 years in age.

"It came on quickly, didn't it?"

"Yeah," nodded the younger man. "Within a few short years after the androids were destroyed." He looked up, meeting eyes with his androgynous father. "Perhaps this world wasn't meant to survive."

Vegeta's face remained passive though his mind was calculating as always, running through objectives and how to execute them.

"You're different," Vegeta smiled slightly. "I can't put my finger on it but it's something."

Trunks shied underneath his father accusing gaze, looking anywhere but in the other man's eyes.

"Ah," the Saiyan gave up. "perhaps I'm just so used to my own son now." 

"I'd nearly forgotten about that," Trunks smiled shyly. "There are two of us now. People will get us confused, won't they?"

The young man's eyes became the size of tires when Vegeta burst out laughing, taking to the sky.

"I think the word "impossible" doesn't do it justice." 

…………………………………………………………………………………….

"As it is every day," Vegeta smirked, touching down a safe distance from the capsule courtyard, watching the people filter in and out of doors for lunch. "He humors her by meeting in their reserved spot, helps her down into the chair as if he cares, and watches while she cries. It's the same routine and he reacts as he did the first time and will the last time. Nothing."

The two watched mother and son sit beneath the large shade umbrella, the wind making the decorative lining sway lightly. Bulma was gesturing madly, her body slowly aging with time yet her argumentative spirit untouched. Mirai was shocked at the appearance of his younger self, horrified by the short cut hair littered with white streaks. The 24 year old sat, seemingly bored by everything in his surroundings, attitude screaming anything but interest in what his mother was saying.

"She pleads with him every time. The same thing." Vegeta sighed.

"What does she say?" Mirai asked.

"She begs him to feel." Vegeta breathed. "To find love wherever he has to. To abandon this heartless path he has chosen for himself. That it will lead to nothing. She wants him to love."

"He doesn't?"

"Oh… he does," Vegeta grinned. "He loves very capably. The only problem is that the only person he can seem to share it with is himself."

Mirai watched in horror as Bulma seemed to break into tears, caused by something his younger self had said.

"The doctors seem to think it's a chemical imbalance in his brain," Continued the prince. "That for some reason, emotions and feelings normal and necessary in day to day life don't effect him. There are a few terms they gave it. Severe and abnormal narcissism. Extreme sociopathic disorder. As he sits there, he tries to imagine what he should be feeling, what he should be saying and reacting to. But he can't. Rather, when all others would feel shame in causing their mother hurt, he's riling in it and he doesn't understand why."

"He enjoys hurting her like this?" Mirai demanded, appalled by the scene.

"I don't think he tries to. Rather, I think he doesn't care even in the least. I think he pretends to enjoy causing pain because it's easier then trying to understand it."

"Unreal," Mirai muttered to himself. He watched as his younger version placed a hand delicately on his mother's, face contorting slightly with a look of sorrow.

"He plays the part nicely for her though," Vegeta sighed, crossing his arms. "He gives her the illusions when all else fails. When he tires enough of her antics he does what's expected of him. Every gesture, every movement, every muscle tensed in his face is a façade. A masquerade. The actor in his finest hour, calming and pleasing his mother with the simple incentive not to have to talk to her any longer. And then he lifts her from her chair with a pat on the back, pays the bill with a company card, checks out the new waiter and makes a mental note."

"Checks out the new waiter? What does that mean?"

Vegeta gave him a look that simply screamed "duh", rolling his eyes and gesturing when all he had predicted played itself out like a movie.

The younger Trunks visibly sighed, scooted the chair away from the table as he rose, helped his mother out of her own and paid the bill. As they entered into the building, Trunks did indeed give a glance around, spotting what appeared to be an attractive male server and gave the tiniest wink before following his mother.

"He's…..?"

"Oh come off it," Vegeta interrupted him, humor playing with his facial features. "I lived for a year with you in that time chamber and father or not, in whatever sense, I could tell."

Mirai chose to ignore the conversation, watching as the door closed behind the other Trunks. Vegeta looked with him, shaking his head.

"It's his power." He remarked absentmindedly. "Trunks could control the universe with it, if he so chose. If he so much as cared to. The power of beauty and the power of sexual intimidation. Who would have known that his battles of strength could pale in comparison to his other talent. Straight, gay…. It doesn't matter to him. And when he's through? It doesn't matter to them."

"It seems impossible," Mirai breathed. "That he could be so absolutely ruthless and get away with it."

"All he needs is to introduce the idea to a person's mind." Vegeta stated solemnly. "All he needs is that one little push, that one give that makes them his. That tiny amount of doubt that lingers in the deepest part of their subconscious. And he feeds off it."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! Just reallywanted to send my gratitude to all who are reading and especially those that reviewed as it's all the more incentive to post chapters quickly. I really appreciate the time people take to let me know what they think as this IS a VERY twisted story! hahaha, but I will say, no holds bared, it's probably my favorite (despite my love affair with Monster) as it's extremely unique from most others. As you can see, I posted two chapters at once to express my thanks for all the reviews! Keep em' coming!**

Chapter 4

"So he's a soulless, selfish little shit," Mirai growled out, Bulma's hand covering over his own.

"Don't talk about him that way," She said kindly yet firmly at the same time, a tone he swore only she could master. Her blue eyes captivated his own, demanding silence. They sat amongst the flowers and water fountains of the courtyard, the slight breeze a welcome deterrent from the scalding heat of summer.

True, she had aged, though no where near the point his mother had gotten to before succumbing to the virus. True, she was fading before his eyes, the wilting flower kissing the last rays of sunlight before the fall. Yet here she was before him, thriving with life, the glow of health still lightening her cheeks.

"You must try to understand him Trunks," she sighed, dainty little fingertips tracing lines across the table top. "Only you could possibly fathom his reasons."

"And what if he has none? What if, as I suspect, he's a spoiled, heartless shit with nothing more to do with his time but to make others as miserable as himself?"

Her eyes warned him once more, commanding no more of his insults.

"Maybe there are no reasons," She admitted with a nod. "Maybe I don't think there ever were in the first place. And how do you solve the crime that never had a culprit? How do you heal a wound that was never inflicted?"

She rested her chin on her hand, staring off into the distance as Mirai could remember her doing so often after his father had died. The way the crinkles kissing her eyelids would fade for just a moment and once more, she was the pretty young girl fantasizing about her loved one.

"But surely he must feel something," She mused. "Does God make people without hearts? I don't think so. It's a process to make your mind and body immune to feeling. It has to be you Mirai."

He looked up from the table top, staring in disbelief at her.

"What are you suggesting?" He gawked.

"That you save him," she whispered. "If only from himself."

"I don't even understand him," he mumbled. "nor do I feel any desire to. For something of my precise flesh and blood, we are as different as anything else on this planet. To be honest, he sickens me."

"Try Mirai," the woman breathed, taking his hand into her own. "it must be you. Of anything in this world, Trunks respects himself alone. Perhaps…..perhaps somehow he can delude himself into thinking that you are the same person and that's when you must strike. Save him Mirai, please."

Brushing a lock of light purple hair from his eyes, Trunks contemplated this mission. It horrified him. One look at the younger version had been enough to nauseate his system, poisoning all the fluffy fantasies he had enacted in his mind. The two even looked slightly different, their hair styles a complete contradiction to the others. The younger version had apparently despised his hair, cutting it to a mere inch and a half high, spiking it upwards and clashing it with pearly white streaks. Mirai preferred nothing more than a thin piece of wire to hold his shoulder length hair into a tight ponytail, its color darker from the lack of sunlight in his time.

"He wasn't always so bad," she whispered. "He was a good boy for the longest time, growing as I suspect you would have. Teen years were difficult on Trunks, I know that now as he must have felt it then. And don't be misled into thinking he's gay. He's not. He simply prefers the greatest challenge and women no longer could have supplied that for him."

Mirai remained quiet, acknowledging silently that the heiress apparently needed this illusion, however petty it seemed to him.

"So perhaps I like to lie about him," Bulma admitted, surprising Mirai. "what more can be expected out of a human? I like the falsehoods, I like the idea that he can be saved, turned straight and give me grand babies. Like the end of a movie, every wrong made right. But it won't happen that way, will it?"

Mirai kept his silence, regarding her with soft eyes.

"I think I noticed it at about eight years old. I had been shopping, walking out into the parking lot when I noticed Trunks standing near the road, a crowd of people hovering around a car. I think I must have nearly collapsed in my relief that he remained unhurt, staring down at this mangled dog, caught and twisted around the tire of a car. I don't know what I expected Mirai," she dug her fingers through her hair. "Perhaps some sort of reaction, tears, fear maybe? Nothing. Toddlers and boys older then his age were crying, clinging to their mothers or fathers. Trunks remained passive as the dog squealed and screamed like I've never heard a creature do.

"Its sobs were horrifying, the sounds of nightmares. Yet he merely raised his hand and blasted it to pieces right out from under the car. I've never been covered in so much blood and innards that weren't mine and I can still remember the scratchy feeling of peeling off pieces of the dog's hide, the fur covered in blood. And that was it," she shook her head, eyes haunted looking. "he muttered something about the dog making too much noise and headed to the car. I recall a grown man vomiting at the scene, everyone staring at me in disbelief.

"At the age of 14 Trunks had walked into the school bathroom two minutes after his lifelong friend had put a silencer to his temple and pulled the trigger, ending his life against a urinal. They had sent Trunks to many counselors, each deciding that the passiveness of his behavior was one of the steps to acceptance regarding his friend's death. But that attitude never changed. When asked how he had felt, if he missed his friend, Trunks had just shrugged, crossing his legs and raising an eyebrow. 'Why should I?' he asked. 'He obviously knew what he wanted and he's there now. It's the way of the world. The strong survive and who gives a fuck about the weak?'."

Mirai took in a breath, shaking his head.

"I always wanted to believe it was Vegeta's influence upon him," Bulma shrugged. "it was easier that way I suppose. It brought tensions between me and your father, animosity in every room we occupied. But it settled my fears and I know that your father knew that. Maybe it's why he let me get away with it rather then awakening me to the reality of the situation; the truth as only Vegeta could tell it. That for what it was worth, as much as I was horrified by Trunk's behavior, Vegeta was afraid of him."

"I can't imagine dad afraid of anything," Mirai joked, lightening the mood only a tad successfully. "he hasn't changed a bit. Not even aged."

"A fact that haunts him daily." She replied solemnly. "Your father fears Trunks for different reasons. His unpredictability. His unstable detachment from all things. His sadistic behavior that even surprises Vegeta at times. And the incestual attraction that Trunks has time and time again stressed to his OWN father!"

"You're kidding me!" Mirai nearly threw his chair backwards, standing up in a rage.

"Mirai, sit down," Bulma demanded. "You're making a spectacle of yourself."

The purple head nodded, accepting this while still stunned to the point of stupidity by her confession.

"We can't see it the way he does Mirai." Bulma began. "How can you judge what you couldn't possibly comprehend? As much as emotions confuse him so does any human law or unwritten rule. He can't abide by something when he feels no commitment to its reasons. What I'm trying to say is, if morally it doesn't bother him (and I quite imagine nothing could bother him at this point) than he could care less for petty human opinions regarding it. He sees something he wants, he goes for it regardless. And to this day, your father is the only person who has ever been able to deny him what he wants."

"Doesn't Vegeta feel…. Bothered by this?"

She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.

"You know how he is Mirai. He's not exactly willing to speak his feelings on a personal level with me, though thankfully, through Trunks' inability to feel any emotion at all, I've been blessed with the ability to see them in Vegeta more than I ever could before. But in a word? I'd say he's terrified at what Trunks would do to achieve the impossible. When you're numb to anything but the thrill of a good challenge, what more could hold importance with you than achieving it?"

"What can I do?" Trunks asked honestly, watching his mother's face light up with the knowledge that he would help her.

"Hide from him," she instructed. "Watch him if you can stand to look, examine his routine. Find any possible weak moments, any times when something seems to register, even on the smallest scale. You know your own facial expressions as no one does. Who better to watch for them but you? Whatever the case, do not let him see you. Not yet anyways."

"Why? Just for hiding sake?"

Her face turned cold for a moment, eyes harsh and calculating as she took his hand once more.

"If only that were the fear in this situation. No Mirai. Avoid him at all costs for if I know my son even in the most trivial sense, the moment he sees you, Vegeta will be the least of his concerns."


	5. Chapter 5

The routine was normal enough thus far, Trunks oblivious to Mirai's spying. He would drift with only the most minimal amount of ki, lifting his body just far enough to see the whereabouts that Trunks inhabited. So far he seemed rather angelic, walking throughout his day with the interest of a zombie, caring very little for anything it seemed.

He apparently felt no obligation towards being courteous, refused to hold doors and barked obscene orders at the employees underneath his position. And despite his passive facial features, despite his inability to socially connect with anyone in a kind manner, everything about Trunks was unimaginably sexual.

His aura positively reeked of it, waves of pure sexuality melting off of his body. Every movement was an invitation to all around him, every glance, every lift of his eyebrow could silence anyone in attendance. His only downfall was the intimidation that it caused, many people avoiding him at all costs. He horrified them.

His beauty, however sought after, isolated him from those around, even his own mother and father terrified by it. The thought had only occurred to Mirai minutes after he had left his mother, that Vegeta, being as attractive as the man was, had no doubt been sought after by many people. The interesting part in all this? Did a handsome man fear every person that pursued him? Or only the ones that presented a sort of temptation? Was that it? Was that why Vegeta strayed so far away from his own son? He couldn't even trust himself under the scrutiny of such a remarkable face?

It all struck Mirai as positively too Jerry Springer and so he avoided the thought for the time being, watching as Trunks drove home in his impressive black Lamborghini. A spacious mansion on the edge of the ocean, Mirai again remarked to himself that simple spoiling could be the problem. When you've been hand delivered everything on a platter, forgiven for your actions due to your prestigious name, what's there to account for? A person could do anything and be forgiven for it with the flash of a handsome grin on an equally gorgeous face.

He watched with a scowl as Trunks flung a dish at an unsuspecting house maid, hollering that she was fired for unknown reasons. But did the bastard care that she was working out of a green card, spending all of the money she earned to buy her family's way to America? Did he care that she had worked on her hands and knees, blistering the tips of her fingers to create spectacular meals that he didn't even touch? That she had gagged when removing his sheets, finding enough used condoms to clog a toilet? That she had prayed for a raise to her God yet never had the courage enough to ask? No. He didn't care.

The woman burst from out of the double doors, nearly colliding with Mirai that stood in the driveway, watching his other self randomly hurl objects around. He caught her as she tumbled down, holding her shoulders as she bawled into his chest, speaking in French so quickly Mirai could barely decipher the words.

"Shhhh Cherie'," he ordered her, gathering her to him. "Go to see Bulma Briefs first thing tomorrow. There will be a suitable job waiting for you, trust me."

With that he had pushed her away lightly, using the shadows to conceal his face which she had thankfully ignored through her blinding tears. She had stumbled away, relief and disbelief littering the features of her face before uttering out a thousand thanks you and leaving.

Mirai smiled, watching her go before it faded to a sneer, seeing his younger version had hurled a television through the window. He shook his head, glaring in disappointment. How could someone that was so completely him in every physical aspect be such a contradiction to everything that Mirai held dear? There were no morals there, no values or honor. He let his head shake once more, gritting his teeth in his mouth.

"Fucking monster," he muttered.

……………………………………………

The club was as appalling as it was intriguing, the walls littered with shirtless men, each staring at him appreciatively. Perhaps that was the one aspect that both Trunks' shared. The indisputable beauty and the vain knowledge of it. There was no shyness in Mirai as he passed by them, only a higher level of animosity towards any that might think to approach him.

Places like this seemed always absurd, pathetic excuses to escape your mind and twist your present reality to whatever sick fantasy you wanted. You didn't find love in a place like this. You didn't find a deeper, emotional attachment. You found something to fuck and possibly a good case of crabs if Mirai figured it right.

Yet he had followed Trunks here, keeping his energy level low as the Lamborghini tore through the lower streets. It seemed the heir to the capsule corporation also had no use for stop signals and raced right through several on his way to this morally debauched establishment.

Pulling into the valet, Trunks had handed over the keys, grabbing the poor attendant by the collar and whispering the words "scratch it and I'll fucking kill you" before walking inside. Mirai had only shaken his head, waiting a few moments before pulling up his collar and entering as well.

And now he sat at an empty booth, taking in the colorful, swirling world around him, refusing countless drinks sent to him and rolling his eyes in reaction to wordless invitations. There was a time when such attention would have at least flattered his ego yet now, it only proved an annoyance, an impediment on the way to progress.

Trunks sat directly up at the bar, taking in the sights through the smoke of a cigarette and nodding to what must have been a few old acquaintances.

"Who's the victim tonight Mr. Briefs?" The bartender asked, wiping off excess liquid from the glass counter.

Trunks merely scoffed, gesturing for another drink.

"I think the better question is how many tonight," he laughed.

Mirai rolled his eyes, sinking back into the shadows when a man boldly sat down beside him in the booth. Keeping his manners in check, Mirai calmly asked him to leave, that he was waiting for someone.

"Ah, don't worry about it," The man waved his hand, his bleached hair sparkling underneath the fluorescent lights. All in all, he was an attractive man, perhaps in his thirties and very handsome. "I won't be here long."

Mirai nodded, unsure of the man's intentions since he didn't seem to be overly interested. Gesturing for another drink to the waiter on duty, Mirai turned to him, grateful that the dark lighting could conceal his face.

"You've been staring at him all night," The man said, nodding over to where Trunks sat, talking to a tall brunette in what seemed a rather tense conversation.

"Yes," Mirai admitted, moving back farther into the booth so that his face was dramatically shaded. "he's an…. intriguing character, isn't he?"

"Among other things," the blonde laughed. "The son of the great Bulma Briefs, heir to the capsule corp empire. And you'd know it within the first thirty seconds of talking to him. I'm Kelly, by the way," the man offered his hand, Mirai gladly taking it as he realized the man had no impure intentions for him at the moment. "And what's your name Blue Eyes?"

Mirai smiled, shaking his head.

"You could just call me that if you're comfortable," he laughed, finding himself strangely comfortable with his company.

"Alright then," Kelly smiled, gesturing to Trunks. "And that's Trunks Briefs, or as they refer to him around here, Adam."

"Adam?"

"It's more of a mock title," Kelly rolled his eyes. "The first perfect creation of God. I'm sure you know what I mean."

"Hm," Mirai nodded, resting his chin on his knuckles. "I suppose I do."

They both stared at the twenty-four year old, sitting there in all his glory, body tightly wrapped in a black tank top and tan leather pants.

"But word of advice," Kelly cocked an eyebrow. "Under no circumstances, sleep with that man. Sure, if that's all you're in it for, he'll give you the best lay of your life and I'm not exaggerating on that. But if even in the smallest part of yourself you just may think that you'd want more to it, keep away from him. The prettiest face in the world and the ugliest person I've ever had the displeasure of knowing."

"That bad huh?"

"Worse. He's probably slept with over half of the people here worth looking at and torn them to shreds when he's done. He's no one to fuck around with unless you're stupid enough to do it. I just wanted to warn you kid. There are enough victims around here that I'm surprised someone didn't beat me to it."

"I appreciate it then," Mirai smiled. "But I have no intention of doing anything with him. Just admiring a pretty face you could say."

But Kelly wasn't listening, watching with wide eyes as the brunette that had been talking with Trunks reached up and punched him square across the face. Trunks of course seemed more or less unfazed, standing up and cracking his knuckles. Mirai's blood ran cold at the detached look in the younger version's eyes, absolutely no feeling or care registering.

"Oh God," Kelly breathed. "I thought I remembered that guy. Trunks brought him in last night, I was sure of it."

"Why did he hit Trunks then," Mirai slowly maneuvering out of the booth, watching as Trunks continued talking to the man.

"Man was engaged to be married and also worked under Trunks, in more ways than one last night, I assure you." Kelly swallowed. "Guess the guy didn't know that Trunks had also been schtuping his pregnant fiancée for over a month now. But apparently, he knows it now."

"Oh God," was all that Mirai could mutter, watching in slow motion as Trunks sent the man flying 6 feet into the air.

…………………………………………………………

"Well, that wasn't such a bright thing to do now was it Tony?" Trunks smiled sadistically, adrenaline pumping at an orgasmic pace. He felt the euphoria work over his body, his eyes fluttering with this sudden need to humiliate and destroy. He could swear he was working into a hard one just at the thought.

The brunette lay sprawled out on the floor, the music in the club turning off as several men encircled him, ready and willing to join in the fight.

"Tony," Trunks said in a paternal voice. "call your boys off if you care about them. They'd be short work and you know it," He reached down, grabbing a fist full of that gorgeous brown hair and nearly snapping the man's neck as he pulled his head up. "don't you mother fucker?"

Tony only cried out, enough incentive for his 'boys' to attack, trying as a group to tear Trunks off him. It was, as predicted, short work for the Saiyan as he took them one by one, hurling bodies like weightless objects around the room.

Mirai sat in stunned silence, recalling his mother's warning yet obliged to do something about this outrageousness. A Saiyan using his powers against infinitely weaker beings! He felt nauseated.

Bodies scattered strategically around the room, Trunks looked down in sustain at his cigarette that had been literally punched out of his mouth only a few moments before. He grabbed Tony by the back of his shirt, throwing his face down only inches in front of the still burning embers.

"Pick it up," Trunks spat.

Stupidly, the Italian refused, muttering curses at Trunks instead. 'Oh yes,' Trunks thought, 'definitely hard by now.'

"Alright then," he grinned, grabbing Tony's arms behind his back and twisting them at an impossible angle. The screams that met the air were only accompanied by the horrified yells and whispers by the other occupants of the club. "Pick it up with your fucking teeth."

Delusional with pain, the brown eyes could only roll up into his head, Tony's face collapsing against the tiled floor.

"Did you not hear me!" Trunks screamed in rage, grabbing the hair once more and yanking him up. "I said fucking pick it up!"

"That's ENOUGH!" A voice came from behind him, Trunk's rage blinding him to the familiarity of the speaker.

Whirling in anger and perfectly intent to castrate whoever had the gall so much as to disturb him, Trunk's mouth flew open before forming the flawless, charming grin.

"My God," he smiled, dropping his victim. "well, if it isn't Mirai."


	6. Chapter 6

Trunks circled Mirai, hands clasped tightly behind his back as he watched his prey, unable to believe this. It was positively insane that he should be looking back at himself, watching the familiar features move on a face that was exactly like his own.

"Mirai, Mirai," he whispered, adoring the sound of it coming from his own voice. "the living legend. The epitome of my mother's bedtime stories. How truly marvelous."

Mirai stood perfectly still, swallowing hard under such scrutiny. The brunette lay panting on the floor, on the brink of unconsciousness, yet still alive. How threatened Mirai suddenly felt, understanding in that moment what dread a Gazelle must feel, face to face with the approaching lion.

"How often I've dreamt of this meeting," Trunks laughed, pushing his fingers through the short threads of his hair. "like one big orgasmic fantasy come true. Yet here we are, the impossible face to face meeting and I don't have anything more to do than admire the creation that is myself. How fucking hilarious is that? You'd swear I didn't have a mirror."

"What a second," Kelly was stumbling backwards, forming the accusations that lay on the tongues of all in attendance. "You ….. you two! You look exactly alike. Why, the resemblance it's-…. Remarkable, my God!"

Trunks merely rolled his eyes, walking up within inches of Mirai's face, staring at him too closely and caring nothing for personal boundaries.

"My God," He breathed all too close, shaking his head. "You are fucking fascinating, you know that? Like the big brother I never had and yet I'm hit with this phenomenal infatuation with you. Why are you here?"

He shook his head, laughing and tossing away the question.

"Ahh, forget that," He tossed his head back. "what do you say we blow this joint and you can …. FILL me in later in private?"

The suggestiveness of the comment was not lost on Mirai and his mother's words of caution echoed at that exact moment. Truly, Vegeta now was not a concern. And most disconcerting of all, for the first time, staring back into the gorgeous face that he could hardly wish to claim as his own, Mirai understood Vegeta's fear. All unspoken rules laid to the wayside, sexual intrigue had become an unexpected tempter. No wonder Vegeta feared his own son.

----

"So that was you, spying on me today," Trunks chuckled, placing a glass of straight whiskey on the rocks in front of Mirai. The older version eyed it wearily, recognizing the malicious glint in his younger self's eyes. It seemed the 24 year old could think of nothing else, mind positively poisoned over time with the need to inflict pleasure and pain upon others. And despite the charming exterior, there was always the underlining sociopathic detachment that Mirai could only recognize in his own face.

"Ha," Trunks laughed. "And here I had figured mom had sent her old pool boy to spy on me again. She does that from time to time. Finds useless employees and sends them after me."

He sat down, lazily crossing his legs and tapping his fingers on the expensive armrest of his antique chair.

"You know I fucked the last one she sent me."

Mirai rolled his eyes, grabbing for his own drink.

"You're not going to get a rise out of me Trunks." He warned the younger man.

Rather than seem deterred, Trunk's smirk only widened, the scent of a challenge all but making him hard.

"Ohhh…" He cooed in a mock disappointed voice. "And I was SO hoping to at one point tonight."

Mirai felt sweat break out on his forehead.

"So tell me Mirai," Trunks asked casually, taking a sip of his own drink. "If you fuck yourself, is that considered masturbation?"

"Trunks!" Mirai spat warningly, raising up from his chair.

"Ahh, fine fine," The younger laughed, motioning with his hands for the other to sit down again. "I'll behave. For now."

Mirai sighed, fists clenched into tight balls as he sat. The younger's absolute gall had thrown him off, the dialogue of this conversation almost inhumane in its raw, uncouth content. He'd never had a discussion that had made him THIS uncomfortable and he squirmed in his chair, connecting eyes with Trunks and wanting to melt into the cushions. It seemed there was nothing the young version wouldn't say. No inhibition, no apologies, no regrets.

"So, you came back from your world and the first thing she does is send you after me." Trunks scoffed. "Mother. So fucking original."

"I don't think I like your tone," Mirai cautioned angrily.

"I don't think I give a shit," Trunks spat back, showing signs of anger. "So what do you want then?"

"What do you mean 'what do I want'," Mirai asked curiously, relieved that his counterpart had visibly calmed down.

"In my experience, everyone wants something." Trunks said haughtily. "You don't associate with the devil unless you're willing to sell your soul for something. It can be sex, drugs, money. Whatever the case. You're tagging along for a reason. I want to know what it is."

"I want to help you," Mirai leaned forward. "I want to change you, if it can be done."

"Aw, well isn't that sweet," Trunks mocked harshly. "I've already made it clear what I want you to do in the ways of…..helping me Mirai. It's only a matter of time."

Mirai tossed his head back, laughing cruelly. Trunks stood up, nearly knocking his chair over in his hast.

"You're mocking me for it!" He spat, challenging the other. "Oh, but doesn't that make you even more the fool. It's the ones that underestimate me that it sneaks up upon the quickest. Daddy dearest learned that one."

"You're a brat Trunks. You rant and rave like a child."

"Oh do I? Or does it scare you that you know I'm right? Check your history before stalking me Mirai. About how many people have I pursued and about how many have I slept with? You'll see the numbers don't exactly vary. And I WILL have you and I WILL fuck and you WILL enjoy it. That's the way of the world. I get what I want, when I want, how I want it."

"Except for me." Mirai stood up coldly, sizing up the other. "You can throw your sexual hissy-fits at me until this world burns to ashes. But you'll never have me and it'll drive you mad."

"Bullshit. That's what they all say."

"Perhaps. But let me propose an idea. You let me help you, you change and I'll give you the one thing that you've always dreamed of."

Trunk's eyes lit with sexual fire, his fingers moving up to curiously trace the contours of Mirai's face.

"Change and you can have me."


	7. Chapter 7

"So change my world Mirai!" Trunks challenged, holding his arms out. "Punish me!"

He grabbed the older version's collar, pulling his face near.

"Fix me Mirai," He breathed, voice melting with sex. "I've been a bad…. BAD boy!"

Mirai pushed him away violently, glaring. He could feel the heat from Trunk's breath on his cheeks and mouth, left there like a blown kiss, burning his resolve. It seemed the pores of Mirai's own flesh were flushing with the desire for his younger self, pulsating with blood. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind from the state of idiocy he had found himself in.

Against his will, he found his eyes staring at the younger version, his human half obsessed with beauty, poisoning his resoluteness. Every contour, every line, every slope of flawless flesh seemingly sculpted out of some sort of ethereal material. How could this be his face when he had become so blindly infatuated with it? Had he looked at his own face with such horrific fascination? So why this incessant need to stare at what he had already memorized years ago?

"You want me," Trunks laughed.

"Preposterous," Mirai spat, turning away quickly and avoiding the other's gaze.

"You want me just like I want you. Admit it."

"You presume too much Trunks. You're just like Vegeta; you jump ahead before seeing where you'll land."

"And you're trying my patience Mirai. Why don't you just admit it!"

"Because I don't!"

"Yes you do." Trunks nearly snarled, hurling his glass across the room. "And I'll tell you why you do. Because EVERYONE wants me! And if they don't, than they will. That's how the game works."

"Then play the game my way," Mirai smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Show me that you can change, be more then this, and then you'll get what you want."

"And do you even know what you're trying so hard to change Mirai?" The younger version asked, cocking his head to the side. "Have you even thought about what it is that needs to change? Or why it does?"

Mirai remained quiet, avoiding the other's eyes. There was something about the twenty-four year old's gaze that could make you want anything. It unnerved him.

"Come into my world," Trunks whispered. "You're trying to change a life you don't even understand. Let me show you what it means to live."

………….

The music pulsated like a pounding heart beneath his feet, jarring his senses one note at a time. Bodies swirled around him, naked chests and muscular arms wrapping themselves around his body. He flinched as another palm found its way to his groin, groping him hard through his pants. Or should he say "Trunk's" pants since the younger version had insisted on dressing him up like a ken doll, perfectly erotic black Teflon stretched over a muscular rear.

His hair was pulled back, revealing the face that so many could admire (apparently even himself) blue eyes darting dangerously from one suggestive look to another. Trunks was basking in the attention, white streaks of hair turning the colors that flashing lights registered down upon the crowd.

Was it always like this? Mirai had to wonder, watching his younger self drown in a worshipful sea of admirers, hands and mouths reaching towards him constantly. Surely the attention had to become tedious at some point yet Trunks seemed in his element, denying pleas left and right, kissing some to encourage the pathetic groupies.

"You see my world," Trunks whispered into his ear, leading them through the crowd towards the bar. "You could live like this too. You could have it all like I do."

Mirai simply shook his head, willing away the temptation. It had been a stupid move on his part to agree to this. He'd had no intention of actually seeing the beauty and appeal of it all. And in no way did he form any sort of stupidity in his mind that would EVER suggest Trunks could change. He merely wanted the youth to attempt for the sake of his mother. No more, no less.

Yet he had made himself vulnerable in his own attempts and now fought down strong urges he had long ago passed off as fitful hormones. Perhaps he hadn't been ready for this. Jumping into his time machine, he had given no thought to his younger self. He had imagined the youth would grow as he did, albeit happier and more secure. Rather, he had been shocked to find a bisexual nymphomaniac who sociopathically chose victims like some sort of fairytale monster.

It concluded facts about himself that he had long ago been unable to accept. And he didn't like it.

"Sit," Trunks instructed. "I'll get us some drinks."

Mirai did as he was told, his old "Vegeta" personality kicking him for taking orders from anyone. Even uhh… himself. He had to smile at that one, accidentally sending over a cheeky signal to an admiring and mentally smacking himself as the man came nearer.

"Damn Trunks," The rather flamboyant (and obviously artificial) red head purred out, taking a seat in the booth with him. "Your hair looks fabulous! How EVER did you get it to grow so quickly?"

Mirai blushed profusely, hating the fact, yet being unable to deny the attractiveness of the man seated before him. Smooth, white skin nestled beneath a crop of shinny, silken red hair and furious green eyes that no dim lighting could dull.

"You alright sweety?" The red head called out over the music, brushing back loose strands of Mirai's hair. "You look a bit flushed. Ya wanna get out of here? Titus and Aries are in the back room. I'm sure they wouldn't mind heading back to your place or mine."

Mirai thought he'd positively pass out when the man massaged his thigh from underneath the table, winking sweetly.

"We could all have a go at it. You know, just like old times."

"Uhhh," Mirai droned out, feeling like a complete idiot. "I think you've got me confused. See uhh…"

He had the other man's attention yet couldn't quite seem to form the words.

"See, I'm not him. Or… well, I AM him just uhh…" He mentally thanked God when Trunks waltzed up to the table, holding two glasses and smirking.

"Ohh Mirai," he purred in a heavenly voice. "I see you've already met Red. Your fan club is positively blossoming."

Red just stared back from one of them to the other, shock registering on his facial features.

"Oh my God," He breathed. "And here I thought Kelly was just being his hysterical self. You two are completely identical."

He looked from Trunks to Mirai, reaching out to finger the long strands of purple that the older version still kept.

"And you're BOTH absolutely gorgeous? I didn't know you had an identical twin Trunks! How EVER did you manage to hide him from such finicky fags such as ourselves?"

"Easily," Trunks shrugged. "I kept him to myself. He's perfectly content you can imagine."

"Yes," Red smiled suggestively. "I CAN imagine. As I was just saying to… Mirai did you say it was? I was suggesting we revisit past times. Aries and Titus are around and I'm positive they would be more than thrilled to-.."

"No thanks Red," Trunks smirked without humor. "This is a rare trip to the outside world for my "brother". I don't exactly need him traumatized by you and your series of toys."

Red looked rather disappointed, slowly letting himself up, off the booth and staring down at both once more.

"Well," He pouted. "Suit yourself. Oh but Trunks, I AM calling you."

With that, he flamboyantly made his way to the dance floor, swiveling his hips to admirers of which there seemed no shortage. Trunks merely smiled after him, rolling his eyes as he presented his older version with a stiff drink on the rocks.

"You'll have to forgive Red," he grinned. "He only just realized he was gayer then Barney on Ice and shed his wife and kids for it. He's what we call, "still on the prowl", meaning, he's absolutely sexually insatiable at this point."

"He had a wife and kids? And he just left them?" Mirai asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I like to consider it reckless abandonment." Trunks laughed heartlessly. "Poor little twat of a wife still comes in here occasionally, begging him to at least go see his kids. I wish he would have just done it the old fashion way. Fuck some random person and let her walk in on it. No lies, no questions, no need for answers. I've helped a numerous amount of men with that one. But rather," He sighed. "He trails her behind him, never making it clear enough to let her go. I think he likes the attention, but who knows. Heteros, they're just so damn pitiable."

"So you don't think what he did was wrong? I mean, just LEAVING them like that?"

"God no," Trunks rolled his eyes, taking a swig of his drink. "That's what heteros do. They go through the drama, they play their little 'victim' rolls. In our world, there's no need for explanations. We come and we go when we like. If we're not there in the morning, we're not coming back for lunch so to speak. You ask me if I think what he did was wrong and I ask you how it isn't considered right? He shed his inhibitions. He didn't let petty attachments keep him from the life he knew he wanted. He shed them both and if you ask me, he should feel absolutely no guilt for that. They're the culprits! They're the ones that held him back for so many years from his full potential."

He took another drink, shrugging his shoulders.

"They're like a disease and he's only now finding out there's a real cure for it. Good for him."

"That theory sucks," Mirai grumbled, taking a large drink.

"Life sucks. You can either spend it concentrating on how much it sucks," He smirked, moving towards Mirai and cupping his knee. "or you can spend it doing your own amount of sucking. All just depends."

"You're sick."

"God, aren't I?" Trunks laughed, laying back into the booth and deliberately letting his hand slide up Mirai's thigh. "So when are you going to give in and let me fuck you Mirai?"

An entire mouthful of alcohol was spattered all over the table, Mirai gasping and choking in surprise.

"What!" He coughed, wiping his mouth. "Do you ALWAYS talk like that? Just say whatever pops into your sick head?"

"Yes," Trunks nodded. "I figure it cuts down on the trivial chit chat and conveys the truth. People may not like boldness but they do respect it. But answer me. This game is getting old. When are you going to let me fuck you raw?"

Mirai tensed as Trunk's hand slowly slid up the inside of his thigh, gradually moving towards his groin. He glared down at the offending appendage, glancing up and observing Trunk's closeness that now seemed to surround him like a blanket.

"You feel this," Mirai suddenly jumped, the younger version's hand grouping his crotch, hot and fiery with energy building on his palm. "I burn for you. Who else could appreciate your beauty the way I do? Who else could make you want the freedom so bad? I could show you things you've never even fucking fantasized about."

Mirai struggled, trying to push Trunk's hand away from his hardening cock before the younger realized his own effect.

"I can fuck you so hard you bleed," the voice whispered into his ear, Mirai suddenly losing his own inhibitions to the almost painful force of Trunk's knuckles and palms digging into his partially erect cock. "And you will love it. You will beg for me to cum on you Mirai. They all do."

Trunks hand was slowly replaced by his knee, massaging forcefully up and down Mirai's fully erect dick, the gorgeous man's eyes rolling back into his head. The smile that crossed the lips of his younger self was lost as the monstrous heir grinned in victory, wrapping his cold fingers onto the other's cheeks.

"You will love me when I fuck you Mirai. I'll show you love like you've never seen before." Trunks tongue snaked across the other's lips. "I will make you fall in love with me."

Mirai's hand suddenly covered his, the fierce blue eyes peeling open.

"I could never fall in love with you Trunks. No one could."

"Bullshit," the youth snapped, glaring down at his prey. "They all love me. They all fall eventually. That's the fun of the game."

"It's all a lie," Mirai shrugged, pushing Trunks away from him. "They don't love you. They don't FALL in love with you. They become obsessed with an idea that you give them. A lie. A façade. A trick. Do you want me to elaborate?"

They stared at each other, both daring the other to look away and neither willing to.

"If you want to see love, Trunks, REAL love, I can show that to you. Only ask it of me and it's done. I will show you what love is."

"Haven't you learned already!" the other snapped, angry at his rejection. "Or are you that fucking thick! I don't believe in love! It's nothing more than a pathetic, fantastical idea created by desperate humans. It doesn't even exist! Nothing more than the right combination of chemicals mixing in the brain to create only the sort of stupidity humans would so readily subject themselves to. Yeah, maybe you're right. They don't really "love" me. But they think they do and therein lies the hilarity of the situation. You would THINK being a Saiyan you'd be above such idiocy and desperation."

"That's really what you think? That love doesn't truly exist?"

"If it does, why subject yourself to it? No, humans want the pain, the emotion, the let down. It's their driving force in life. They need the emotional drama to feel alive. It's the only way they thrive as a race. Rather than any greater purpose or goal in life, they merely dream of "feeling". What more do I do than let them succumb to their own stupidity?"

"So, you've never loved anyone or anything in your life?" Mirai asked, watching the features of Trunk's face. And it seemed as though the beautiful contours froze but for one moment before righting themselves, replaced by a cruel grin.

"As if I would ever be so foolish." He scoffed. "I love sex though, if that's any consolation."

"It isn't." His other self replied, eyes harsh. "Nymphomania is a poor substitute for real feeling Trunks. And when you're alone and you die, I think you're going to realize that. I pity you for it."

"And I pity you, Mirai," Smirked the other. "because you will have to watch you life fly by in a series of let downs and broken dreams. I live for each moment and never feel the sting of disappointment that you feel when trusting others with your heart. People can make or break you, Mirai, but me? I'm the invincible God to these people. No one can touch me unless I allow it."

"Sure, I agree," Mirai shrugged. "You'll go through life, moment for moment. And on your last one, mark my fucking words, you'll regret every single one you wasted inside some stranger. Mark my fucking words."

With that Trunks pushed himself away from the table, flashing Mirai a sadistic grin before strutting through the dance floor and grabbing two random, handsome men before exiting through the back.


	8. Chapter 8

Mirai walked through the house in disgust, kicking some sort of sexual toy to the side as he made his way to the bedroom. The morning sun leaked through the windows, spilling down around the luxurious furnishing, yet Mirai winced, hearing the sounds of heavy breathing emanating from the partially closed door.

Walking through, against his better judgment, he was met with the grinning face of Trunks, well aware of his arrival and laying beneath two gorgeous men both giving him a blowjob. Mirai resisted the urge to look away, knowing his younger self had planned this all out and expected his reaction to be nothing short of horrified.

"You want to join in Mirai?" the monstrous youth laughed, grabbing a fist full of brown hair and pushing one of the men's head down furiously around his cock, earning a muffled protest. "There's enough morning wood for everybody, trust me. What do you say boys? You'd give him a round of it wouldn't you?"

Both men lifted their heads simultaneously, cum spattered in little stains across their faces.

"Holy shit!" One said, staring in disbelief as Mirai glared down at them, identical to the man they were sleeping with. "He looks just lik-.."

"Did I say you could stop?" Trunks snapped, grabbing both their heads and forcing them back down into his lap where they continued their work vigorously. "You see Mirai? You see how they obey? Why can't you be more like that? Give in. It's inevitable anyways. I've fucked around with every Saiyan on this planet save for two. Now you're the third and I don't intend to let you go."

"What do you mean?!" Mirai asked, finally giving into the shock of it all. "Every Saiyan but two?!"

Ideas whirled through his head, his mind suddenly overloaded with images of possible scenarios, Trunks sexual face not making them any less pornographic. Goku, Vegeta, Gohan. Which two was he addressing? Which one had he been with? Oh God. It was positively mind boggling.

Trunks threw the men off, pinning one down on his back, the other over him and Trunks taking the top. He strapped himself with a heavily lubricated condom, never taking his cruel eyes off of Mirai's.

"You want to know," he laughed, slowly forcing his way into the man beneath him, loving the sound of pain that the victim made. "Ask my daddy dearest. I'm sure he wouldn't mind enlightening you."

He began to force his way in and out, hips thrusting painfully against the backside of the brunette who had made his own way inside the man pinned beneath him. Mirai had to force himself to look away, to be repulsed by this even when every secret inclination made him want to join them, their beautiful bodies covered in sweat and seamen.

Trunks caught Mirai's eyes looking at them, giving a victorious smirk as he realized the desire building in his older version. He picked up his movements, thrusting faster and deeper, lifting the men into the air as he levitated, pounding harder as he stared into Mirai's eyes. Neither looked away and Mirai got the impression that sexually, it made it only more enjoyable for Trunks to stare at himself essentially, loving the fact that Mirai was watching them.

He turned away quickly, cursing himself for having indulged the bastard so much, walking towards the door angrily.

"Oh, and while you're there," Trunks threw his head back, laughing deliriously with pleasure and insanity at the same time. "Give him a big kiss for me."

………………………………………..

Vegeta hardly stirred at the question, dark, thick eyelashes barely fluttering as Mirai inquired of him what Trunks had meant by what he said. It seemed as though the gorgeous Saiyan prince had been expecting such and Mirai found himself cursing the fact that he knew damn good and well why Trunks entertained this incestuous obsession.

The Saiyan prince was no less than phenomenal to look at, Mirai recalling days in the Time Chamber where he had been caught simply staring at this version of his father, magnetized by the simple beauty of the man's face. How many years had Vegeta lived? How many things had Vegeta seen? And yet still, he remained in the body and face of no more than a twenty-five year old, as appealing as the day he had hit maturity no doubt.

It was insatiable, this infatuation with simply staring at the older man, watching the very subtle movements of his jaw line as the prince mauled over what to say. It was no wonder so many people had fallen so completely in love with the prince through his lifetime, Mirai recalling humorous stories his father had told him while in the Chamber of Time. Stories of chaotic obsession, of desperation to be with him. At the time, Mirai had only laughed, blown away by the simple gall of people. Now, he could almost pity them.

"He says he's slept with all but two. Who is the one he slept with? What's he talking about?"

Vegeta sighed, never having been one for much conversation.

"How can I hope to help him if I have no idea what he's been doing?" Mirai pushed, seeing his father's expression go from irritated to nearly angry within a few seconds. "There's something big going on with him, I realize that. But I think in his own way, he's trying to tell me. Or at least show me. I need to know, who has he been with?"

"There aren't just three Saiyans anymore Mirai," Vegeta scowled. "Kakarot had another son, named Goten, looks exactly like him."

"Then he must be the one," Mirai whispered, staring into his father's face. "But wait, he said all but two. That must mean he slept with… at least two others."

Vegeta turned away from him, anger registering on his face. Mirai gasped, afraid to ask aloud yet knowing he had to do so.

"Father," He breathed, shaking his head. "Vegeta, did you-.."

"God! Of course not!" The prince turned on him in rage. "Are you insane?! God, boy, THINK!"

Mirai just stared, torn between the sense of some relief and yet, at the same time, a sick sense of rejection. Even the Trunks of this time couldn't slay the powerful Saiyan. Amazing.

"Kakarot," Vegeta breathed, making himself comfortable once more on the bed he was lying in. "His wife, what's-her-name, came down with a rare form of cancer. He stayed with her through it all, amazingly enough. I guess I never even thought he liked her that much, but apparently….."

"Go on," Mirai pushed, knowing he was probably overstepping his grounds but anxious to know the full story.

"Apparently he did. When she died, I tried to get him to come away from the funeral. He had stayed well past the ceremony and deep into the night. It was the first time I couldn't really talk to him. He always seemed to listen to what I would say, however idiotic he seemed."

Mirai nodded, recalling the strange, almost affectionate rivalry between the two. Where they showed animosity, there was a deep respect and whenever it came down to it, the two would have protected each other even if it meant dying. He had always wondered if there wasn't something more between them, the way they seemed to stare longer at each other than anyone else did. The way the air tended to spark whenever they were both in the room. He had to grin; the way that his father only seemed to genuinely smile when Goku was around.

"I tried to physically get him away from her grave," Vegeta was continuing, oblivious to his son's thoughts. "That proved useless as he only knelt on the ground and began sobbing like a child. I guess I never thought I'd see the day when he broke down, but I suppose it happens to all of us eventually. He wanted to die, really die, for the first time that day. Said it already felt like he had. I left, believing he was inconsolable."

Vegeta looked up seriously.

"I was wrong."

"You're not saying…" Mirai looked at him in shock, trying to goad him onward. "Not Goku. You're kidding me!"

"It seemed that Trunks had just the right way of comforting Kakarot, moving towards him once I'd left and… well, let's just say, Kakarot had sex in the last place he ever would have thought. Trunks fucked him right over his wife's grave."

Mirai covered his mouth, eyes wide in disbelief. How could Goku have DONE it?! Sure, he would never put Trunks past such a thing but Goku? Hero, savior of the universe? It seemed absurd, yet he knew his father would never speak anything contradictory to the truth. Sure, Goku was as beautiful as any other Saiyan, the strong features, the alluring mouth and eyes. He was always more boyishly handsome then Vegeta, though almost as mesmerizing as a result, his innocence an open invitation for Trunks apparently.

But Mirai still couldn't imagine it. Goku had never even seemed like a sexual person to him. Despite the ravishing good looks that never went without notice, Mirai had always imagined that Goku was somewhat oblivious to his appearance, focusing more on fighting and what not.

"Try not to think too harshly of Kakarot," Vegeta breathed in a tired voice. "You know how Trunks can be. I can tell just from looking at you, you've seen it as well. The invincible allure. There's something almost ungodly about it. Something unnatural that a man could have that much control by just using his body as a flytrap for the weak."

Mirai nodded gravely, still trying to digest the information.

"Against his normal policy," Vegeta continued. "Trunks repeatedly seduced Kakarot, their romps lasting for over a month before anyone realized what was going on. And when someone finally did… well…."

"Goten then!" Mirai spat out, having heard from his mother that Gohan was now not only married but also a father.

Vegeta only shook his head.

"Gohan was irate when Kakarot had finally broken down to him, going to search for Trunks and, for all I'm aware, having every intention of killing him."

"Would you have stopped him?" Mirai inquired, not certain why it was so important to him.

"If Gohan had felt the need to kill Trunks, then I would have let him. Gohan is no killer but he had his reasons, fair enough. As he saw it, the equivalent for what Trunks had done was nearly the same as rape and he had every intention of ending Trunks life. Do I think it was rape? God no. I know better, Kakarot knows better and… Gohan, now knows better."

"Gohan!?" Mirai nearly fell out of his chair. "But, he's MARRIED! And he has a kid and… well, I thought he was straight!"

"What have I told you, Mirai?" Vegeta snarled in annoyance. "It doesn't matter. Gay, straight, lesbian, bisexual, transsexual and God knows what other ones are out there! He takes what he wants and by the time he's through, every moral, every principal, every value they've ever held in their life is over. He gives them the greatest fuck of their lives and leaves them with nothing else."

Mirai buried his face in his hands.

"Gohan should have known better. He knew his father's strength, his father's sheer will. He went to confront Trunks in an open field, miles upon miles from any civilization, fully prepared to enact the murder. I don't know how it all came about, only that within three days, Videl, his wife, was moving out and taking their daughter with them. He barely sees her anymore."

"Trunks is an absolute monster," Mirai spat, face planted against his palms. "Gohan should have killed him when he had the chance. He's not even a real man."

"I wouldn't be too hasty," Vegeta sighed, rolling over. "While he never slept with Goten, I can tell you as much that there was something between them for quite some time. Trunks had been almost…. I guess the word would be happy. He'd almost been happy, it seemed, for a few months, spending all his time with Goten, just like they had when they were kids. And then, very gradually, it got worse and worse. That was four years ago now. And he hasn't seen Goten since."


	9. Chapter 9

Mirai walked towards Goten, remarking to himself how incredibly the youth resembled Goku, their age difference making no dent in the identical features. It was almost as though he were staring at the older Saiyan, the facial structures exactly alike, the eyes closed in peacefulness as he rested beneath a tree, arms folded behind his head.

"Goten," Mirai cursed himself for almost saying 'Goku', watching as the dark, identical eyes fluttered open, red with deep sleep. "Goten, wake up."

Goten's eyes snapped open, glaring up at him. Eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to make out the person speaking to him, standing over his body with the sun shining directly behind..

"T-Trunks?!" He spat out in complete surprise, crawling backwards in astonishment. "You look so different. My God, four years."

"Goten, wait I'm-.."

"God, you don't even feel like the same person!" Goten rambled on, raking his fingers through his thick hair, staring as if still trying to believe it. Mirai hadn't exactly thought this through as thoroughly as he might have, not taking into account the idea that his presence could be completely mistaken by the younger man. Goten believed he was Trunks of the present timeline, staring up at him in disbelief and shock.

"Trunks, I can't even feel your aura!" he was blabbering on. "it's so different, so flickering almost! You've changed! You're so…" It seemed as though the truth dawned on him too quickly, cutting off his words. "You're so not even the same person, are you?"

Mirai frowned, somehow finding his shoelaces fascinating as he couldn't stare back into Goten's hurt face.

"I'm not Trunks of your time Goten," He admitted, avoiding eye contact at all cost. "I'm the Trunks that came back from the future a long long time ago in your universe. Before you were born. You can call me Mirai if you want to. Everyone else does and I'm almost getting used to it I suppose."

Goten still stared at him, probably intrigued by the sight of someone so identical to Trunks yet so obviously different on all other accounts. Hurt registered in his eyes, poignant memories no doubt flickering from times before, the disappointment of this Trunks poisoning his usually courteous manner.

"I'm sorry I'm not him Goten," Mirai admitted. "I wish I could be so it wouldn't disappoint you so much. But I am here on account of him, if that's even the smallest consolation."

"You're here to help him." Goten nodded, not asking so much as announcing.

"I'm in this timeline due to a virus attacking mine but yes, I wanted to see you about him. Whoever-whatever he's become… it's not natural. In fact, it unnerves me to the point of almost fear now. It's almost as though mentally, he has detached himself from any thought to another person besides his own bodily needs. He's-…"

"He's a monster." Goten finished for him, sitting up. He slowly wrapped his arms around his knees, bringing them up to his chest. "I'm sorry Mirai, I can't help you."

"What?" Mirai snapped, staring down at the other man. "Is that a 'can't' or a 'won't' might I ask?"

"Look, I once believed, as you do, that he could be changed back. If there ever was a 'back' to essentially go to, once again, I'm not sure. Maybe Trunks was just better at playing charades as a child, or at least felt more inclination to at the time. Now, any obligation to common civilities has escaped him and he's nothing more than a shell of what a person might be. I almost thought him humane at one point, my equal. Now, I don't know what I see him as. I view him as a superior, yet I pity him as an unfeeling creature.

"So what can I help you with? You want to know why he's so terrifyingly distant? Why he can't feel? You might as well be asking God questions in the heart of some old, condemned crack house. You won't get much from me, I assure you."

"Then fine, you won't give me answers, give me what you do know," Mirai demanded, sitting down next to the handsome creature. "I want to know what happened with you two. I want to know why you haven't seen him in four years. Give me the history, anything."

Goten just stared at him for a moment, unnerved by this proposal.

"I don't know if I can do that either," He whispered. "I….."

"Please Goten, what could it hurt?"

"Me." The dark haired Saiyan answered. "For years now, I've tried to push it all behind me. To forget him. By now, you must realize how incapable I am of that. Perhaps his cruelest curse of all is that you fall in love with him and stay that way. Or more specifically, you cannot forget him. Yes, I'd say that's the worst part. Once he's shown you the world you want to see, given you everything you've ever wanted with but one smile, he owns you.

"But I'm lying, aren't I?" He smiled thoughtfully, looking at the ground. "I've never tried to forget Trunks. I wouldn't want to. I told him four years ago that I knew the meaning of love. That it's the quality of not WANTING to forget, good or bad. But I don't want to tell you that right now.

"What do you expect from me Mirai," He shook his head, looking away. "An impossibly elaborate love story? Earth shattering epiphanies? It was simple and it was stupid."

"Is that why you're still alone after four years?" Mirai asked, receiving a glare from the younger man.

"So I'm still stupid," He shrugged. "not exactly a revelation there. How do you go from Trunks to anyone else? That's like seeing the gates of Heaven and then trying to live amongst the glorious streets of a ghetto. It's a pathetic consolation. The world turned to grey once Trunks was gone. Everything turned to ashes."

Goten stared off into the distance, forgetting himself for a moment as he held the backs of his arms.

"I learned to love him," he breathed. "It was a gradual thing but yes, Mirai, I did love him. It wasn't a movie love. It wasn't a romance novel love. Perhaps, in the way of things, it was a very boring sort of love. We were best friends growing up, I'm sure you've gathered. I was always his side kick in the way of things. Always one step behind him, always in his shadow, looking up in almost idolism for him.

"The world saw Trunks very quickly as a type of outsider. Cold; impaired emotional reactions. It's true, but then, maybe I was the only one who could see past all that. Or maybe, I was just one of the stupidest who fell in love with those qualities regardless. I don't think I ever really knew it was love at the time. I just knew that, like everyone else, I loved looking at Trunks. Everything about him was a contrast with the rules of the world. Like Vegeta, he's a rebel against society, cursing unspoken rules and saying to hell with damn near everything the world obligates us to.

"When he was sixteen he announced he was gay. I was the first to hear it, of course, being his closest companion and when he told me, I was suddenly hit with everything all at once. It was an overwhelming realization as new worlds opened up to me. I guess I'd been as neurotic as every other fifteen year old, poking fun at friends, calling them "fag" or "queer" or "homo". And then suddenly, my best friend was one.

"That was my big revelation as a kid. Having my young, heroic (in my eyes) friend admit, or rather announce to the world, that he was homosexual and quite proud of the fact. I thought for sure that Trunks would be bombarded with hatred for his honesty, but to my surprise, it seemed like everyone was suddenly OK with it. The girls that he'd dated or had fallen for him only fell that much harder for what they couldn't have. Other boys in the school system came out directly after him, idolizing his brash behavior as I did.

"In fact, I think only one person ever ended up saying anything derogatory towards Trunks and his response was basically along the lines of "yeah, I take it up the ass sweetheart. Deal with it." I believe less than six months later, Trunks ended up having sex with that same guy and posting up pictures of their encounter all over the school, with only the boy's face revealed."

"Did the kid tell the school who did it?" Mirai asked out of curiosity.

"Nope," Goten laughed. "Trunks was too clever for that. He knew that the guy would rather kill himself then reveal that he ACTUALLY was with Trunks at the time and tried to play it off as though it was one big digitalized joke. I don't imagine anyone believed him. But I'm completely off topic aren't I? Sorry about that Mirai. I get nostalgic sometimes when thinking about him. Seems like another person's life some days.

"It became a game for Trunks at one point, a game between us that I admittedly didn't even like but took part in. He would say the names of random people, gorgeous men (and sometimes even women) that he was going for at the moment. Gym teachers, school board members, jocks and upper classmen. Gay, straight, he preferred a challenge. I would laugh at him, insisting that even HE couldn't get them into one of his infamous tumbles. We would make small bets on whether or not he could pull it off. After losing every allowance for a straight month, we started making bets based souly on how LONG it took him to get them.

"He was insatiable Mirai and the more and more he won what he wanted, the less and less I felt like I was part of his life. I was merely the listener to all of his excursions but never truly part of them.

"But I realized gradually why it was that I was so fascinated by him. I hadn't even known my own father until I was what? Five? Six? And Gohan, though my brother, has always been a rather neutral person in many ways. But here was Trunks, this compelling, rash individual that inspired me in a way no one else did. He was so energetic, so full of life, the most influential person you'll ever meet. I was taken by him.

"Of course, I still fought with myself for years about how I felt. I was cool with his life, his ideas, his world. But I was still insecure, still afraid of him as he delved more and more into his life and left what we'd had behind. I'd go to clubs with him, once we were old enough and he knew enough people to get us into the bars. I played my charade off, seemingly comfortable with his new friends, new "fucks" as he called them, new everything. But maybe, I held on too much to what we were. I wanted to still be his best friend Mirai.

"But the farther he got into the drugs, the drinking, the sex, mostly the sex, I realized I was losing him. The idea of it literally paralyzed me. That 'Trunks and Goten' was now becoming Trunks and his wild life and Goten trying to doggy paddle his way behind.

"It was other things that very slowly awakened my mind to how I felt. Things Trunks would say out of the blue. The way he would talk about my father and even Gohan to an extent. But no, it was my dad that he lusted after the most at that time, always saying things in derogatory context, smiling at my father in the most unusual ways and laughing later about the reaction he'd get. I think he truly would have pursued it early on if I hadn't been so insistent that he leave my family alone on that account.

"My mother was still alive, growing sicker, yet it didn't seem to faze him when the woman, who had all but raised him along side his own mother, grew fainter and fainter before our eyes. He seemed unfazed by everything about her, her usually shrill, upbeat voice sinking to a low whisper, her once pale skin growing with patches of bruises, yellow and blue. He once said in a melancholy voice that he could smell death on her whenever he entered the house, like it was my fault or was something to be dealt with so as not to cause him further discomfort.

"But again, I'm going to tell you Mirai, it was his behavior towards my father that really opened my eyes to what I was experiencing towards us. I remember one day as we had sat on the roof of my old house, he had leaned back and laughed at me. 'When I fuck your dad Goten,' he smirked in the most cruel fashion. 'The entire world will know.'

"I, of course, out of my own insecurity chose to pass it off as merely arrogance on his part, his ego positively enormous. No, I never thought in my wildest dreams he would ever win over my dad. I would stare at my father after he had left, after having to endure one of his graphic depictions of what it would be like, and think to myself that it was surely the greatest impossibility. But the more I thought about it, the more the envy grew against my father and realization gradually dawned on me.

"God," He looked up suddenly, laughing despite himself. "how much courage it took me to finally tell him. I was turning nine-teen and he had forgotten. That was unlike him. Despite his cruelty towards most people, I will say that Trunks reserved some civility on my account. He very rarely ever stood me up or forgot important things that revolved around me. But when I told him when my party was, he was completely stoic about it, telling me quite plainly that he wouldn't be able to make it; other plans of course.

"I was stricken about it. I spent my entire birthday watching the door through the passing bodies of family members and friends, wondering if he wouldn't jump through at any moment, smack me in the arm and laugh at my stupidity for believing he would EVER forget something like that. But he never came. Ideas flooded my head of course. That he'd had every intention of being there and now something horrible had happened. That he had been attacked, gotten in a car accident, something had happened to Bulma or whatever. But as the hours past, the guests leaving, the cake on my plate untouched, the scenarios changed to an orgy of pornographic ideas. He was with someone, he was with several someone's. Whatever the case was, every thought imaginable coursed through my brain like salt on a wound, my anger growing. And I suddenly thought, 'my God, this isn't concern. This isn't sadness at being forgotten. This is plain out jealousy.'

"And there I had it. I escaped from my house through my window, marched without knocking into Trunk's house, LITERALLY tossed people out of his bed before grabbing him up and smacking him in the face for forgetting my party. Normally, he would have fought back, my uncharacteristic behavior stunning him slap after slap. When he'd finally found the wits about him enough to stop my hand, I kissed him very hard, pounded him one more time in the head and told him if he wanted to discuss this, I'd be down in his living room.

"After about ten minutes of making me wait, (quite literally counting the seconds as they past on a nearby clock) he waltz into the room, smacked me upside the head for being so rude and then grabbed me up in the biggest huge I think he's ever given anyone. And I do believe his apology for missing my party was the first and the last he's ever given out of sincerity. And that was that." He shrugged his shoulders. "There's your great romantic story. I was an idiot, I fell for him, I loved him and I've been paying the price now for four years."

"But why?" Mirai wondered aloud. "Why did it end? And on such terrible terms that you would stop speaking to one another for this long? What happened?"

"Inevitability happened," Goten sighed, sitting cross-legged on the ground. "Trunks is a borderline nymphomaniac, or at least I suspect. Who was I to him but an inexperienced old friend with more than a crush. Maybe he cared for me back. We were officially "together" in the minds of the outside world. But Trunks could never learn to love me. I guess I entertained the idea for an excessive amount of time, seeing every smile, every wink, every small gesture of attention as possible blossoming of love. But in the end, I knew that, though he did try, Trunks wasn't in love with me.

"It's just something you know I guess. Something you feel in your chest when you're laying beside a person that doesn't feel as strongly as you do. A sort of desperation, the sad, aching kind. I knew also that he cheated on me. He slept with as many people as he had before. Maybe it was my insecurities or my lingering inability to accept my sexual preference that made me refuse him in the way no one else could. But I never had sex with Trunks. I couldn't do it. Maybe, somewhere, deep inside, I knew how easily Trunks could separate emotion from sex. I knew subconsciously, he was unable to combine the two and detached himself from his "fucks" as though they were a disgusting thing to him.

"I didn't want that. I didn't want to be just another idiot to be discarded later. So I denied him. Maybe that was why he stuck around so long, (or, a long time in Trunks' opinion). I was still a challenge and forever will be I suppose. I was the one person he pursued at the time that would never bend to his will. It made him crazy and perhaps that's why he slept around so much as he did. I couldn't keep him happy. I was inadequate. So we let each other go."

"But WHY!?" Mirai shook his head. "Why not stick by him? Give him more time!? You knew it was different in your case… why not just wait a little longer?"

"Who was I to him Mirai?" Goten asked. "Who was I to him but another person claiming his lifestyle was wrong. I had failed him and in a way, he failed me. Who was I though, to tell him to stop living his life? Wild, untamed sex will always be a part of Trunks. What kind of monster would I be to try and take that away from him? To give him an ultimatum essentially? I fell in love with who Trunks was; I wasn't about to stop him from being that person. So I let him go. I wanted him to live.

"Trunks seemed deranged afterwards, creeping through my window at night when he didn't think I knew he was there, standing at the foot of my bed and just staring for three minutes before leaving. That's why I say that we haven't spoken in four years. We've certainly seen each other from time to time. From then on, I always knew when Trunks was having sex. It must seem odd to you that I point this out, but bear with me. It was a slow, steady flickering of his energy that would alert me to it. His signal to me that he'd moved on, that he didn't give a damn about me and that I should go my way as well.

"The flickering would grow in speed, sometimes very fast, other times as steady as waves on the beach of a calm ocean. But I always knew when it was happening and I hated him for that. For thinking the way to make me stop loving him was to hurt me. Trunks has never had even the faintest grip on emotions, human or otherwise. He can't comprehend that love is not so fickle as to completely stop once another emotion has come along. Maybe he thinks emotions replace each other, like you can't experience several at the same time or something.

"I thought at the time it was just plain cruelty, that he indulged in this treacherous signaling as a way to deliberately be hateful. But I think now, as I look back, that it was his only way of letting me go. He wanted me to hate him, to let anger take over every other feeling and just let him go. It never worked but I do see it now for what I imagine it was.

"But it went too far. When my mother had died, finally giving up after literally years of fighting off inevitability, I didn't know if I could handle it. I'll admit Mirai, I knew my father loved my mom but when I had found him curled at the side of her death bed, her cold, bloated fingers still clutched in his hand, I knew that he could be broken. It was the first time my dad looked anything but invincible to me, and I nearly fell to the floor in my horror of it. I'd never even seen my dad cry or even come close to it, except when concerned with Vegeta, when he would show the rarest emotions of sadness or pain. But I'd never seen him like this.

"God, it was bruising, watching him sob against the death fingers, his shoulders convulsing with his rage and grief. When I realized that muffled pleas were really a conversation with her, the greatest fear I've ever known struck me. That perhaps my dad had truly lost his mind. My father, the unbeatable super hero, the forty-something man that remained in the body of no more than a twenty-two year old, looking suddenly aged in his agony. I couldn't even lift him from the floor, Gohan already moved out with his wife and child, my father and I the only ones left. Perhaps I might have carried him away if I hadn't been so unnerved and even fearful at the sounds he was making.

"As it was, I remained kneeling on the floor, watching him in my shock and nearly crying out when I felt a force behind me. Trunks had nudged me with his foot, demanding with his eyes that I get up and help him move my father away from the body. I shuttered, staring up at his careless eyes, slowly doing what I had to and inching towards my disillusioned father.

" "Shut up." Trunks ordered him, kicking my dad painfully in the ribs. "Stop your whining and get off that fucking floor." To my shock, my father actually obeyed part of the order ceasing his crying and staring up in disbelief. Very carefully, we grabbed my father up, walking him towards the living room where we let him crumple in a dazed mess upon the couch, Trunks turning on the TV and rudely tossing the remote on my dad's chest.

"I didn't really get the chance to thank him or ask him how he had known, only turning to see his eyes upon my father, cold and calculating beyond measurement. He seemed to be staring at every portion of my father's body, receiving the strangest gaze back from my dad. Like there was this unspoken arrangement or agreement between them suddenly and I was the one left out in the cold to try and decipher it. Catching Trunks' eyes, he merely smiled mischievously, turning on his heels and walking out.

"At my mother's funeral a couple days later, he refused to meet my gaze, staring only at my father who had not stopped his mourning since Trunks had left. It didn't surprise me that Vegeta stood beside my dad, as I always figured there was much more friendship between them then this harsh rivalry they kept up for years. I don't think anyone was caught off guard when Vegeta even pulled my dad into what almost resembled a hug, though it might have been a strangled "hold-yourself-together-or-I'll-do-it-for-you" embrace.

"Seeing Trunks finally leave with the rest, I breathed a sigh of relief, leaving my father to Vegeta, the prince giving me a nod of encouragement before moving closer to the bend over figure. 'Go on Goten,' he smiled warmly (if your dad is even capable of that). 'He'll be fine. He's got to deal with this his own way. Leave him be.'

"Later on that night, sitting in the empty kitchen, detecting the faint smell of food my mother had long ago cooked, I felt the familiar, steady beat of Trunks' energy flare up. I tried to ignore it, flipping on the television, shaking my head at his uncouth behavior. But when it became an indescribable, throbbing pulse, unlike anything I'd ever felt before, I knew it. I gasped, searching out his ki and finding it exactly where I'd most feared it would be. Right next to my father's in the graveyard."


	10. Chapter 10

"So are you going to tell me how Gohan found out?" Mirai asked, having waited for several minutes for Goten to speak. The young man had simply sat staring, legs crossed underneath him as he gnawed his lips into a dark red color. "Or is it difficult for you to tell me that part?"

"No," Goten shook his head numbly, eyes never having left their staring spot. "That part isn't hard to tell you. It became obvious after a while; Gohan coming to visit, noticing dad's absence, wondering why it felt that Trunks and him were sparring at all hours of the day. It came to the point where I would make excuses for them, claiming that Trunks had asked Goku to train him (like Vegeta couldn't do it). But it wasn't exactly like Trunk's promiscuous, homosexual reputation was much of a secret, even from my reclusive brother and eventually…."

He turned away.

"I've never seen him look that way; when I finally told him. It's like he just stood there blankly for about five minutes, ignoring as I pounded out excuses, reasons, justifications. 'Dad needed it, Dad was just as much to blame'. I even jumped to the conclusion that it was a 'Saiyan thing that we didn't understand completely'. Gohan just seemed appalled by me. I didn't realize that in his silence, Gohan was putting two and two together; realizing very gradually why it was that even on the day of my mother's funeral, the two had "sparred" in the cemetery. I think 'horrified' is the best way to explain his reaction."

Goten got to his feet slowly, clumsily walking away from Mirai and staring off into the distance.

"When my dad came home, I thought it was going to be war of the worlds. That's how terrifying it was. If dad hadn't been so passive, I swear, Gohan might have…." He trailed off, shaking his head. "I didn't even think my brother knew words like the ones he said. He couldn't even form sentences, screaming incoherently as he trashed our house, burning to cinders my mother's belongings."

The last words were choked and Mirai cursed himself, realizing that Goten was on the verge of tears, relaying this.

"He was screaming so loud, he didn't even realize when he had powered up into super Saiyan, crying like a child when he threw my mother's clothes into the bathtub and lit them on fire. All I could hear him say was that he couldn't believe my dad was capable of such a travesty. That he couldn't believe dad could ever have claimed to love my mother. 'This is what your love amounts to' he had bawled, shattering my father's wedding ring until it was powder in his fist. 'This is what she means to you in the end.' I thought I was crying blood from the pain I was enduring."

"Goten," Mirai breathed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-."

" 'You might as well have killed her' Gohan screamed to my dad," Goten continued, ignoring Mirai. " 'You should have just burned her heart to ashes as she lay dying. You think she doesn't see what you've been doing? You think you haven't killed her again? You killed her with her love!' I think my dad's silence infuriated Gohan more. I don't know what he had expected: tears, admittance, apologies? Gohan ranted and raved, some of his accusations perfectly absurd, though others, I am horrified to say, I almost could agree with.

" 'You left her!' He kept crying. 'You left her a thousand times, abandoning her and me, not even knowing that you had Goten until you came back from a death you ALLOWED yourself to go to. Were we that terrible dad?' He sobbed. 'Were we that awful that you couldn't have stayed? Was I that much of a failure as your son?' My dad had stood up at that part, the first bit of compassion touching his eyes. 

" 'Gohan,' he had said softly. 'you're going too far.'

" 'Was she that terrible of a wife that you would spit on her grave like this?' Gohan screamed, scaring me, as for the first time, I saw traces of madness in his eyes. He was losing it and fast, his voice hoarse with rage. 'Was she so undeserving that you would FUCK ON HER GRAVE?!'

"My dad had stepped forward, anger contorting his features. I almost feared for the safety of our house, preparing, thinking that any minute the two would virtually disintegrate the place. Gohan had thrown my father down, the tiled of the kitchen crackling with the force. His eyes burned with so much hatred, so much pain; so many things he'd held onto for so long that had been pent up for years.

" 'If you stand up again,' He said in the most fearsome voice I've ever heard. 'God save me, I will fucking demolish you!' And for the first time, I really, sincerely believed my brother could. My father looked so young, staring at Gohan like a scared teenager. I think in that moment, by the way their age was hidden so well by Saiyan genes, Gohan appeared to be much older than my father. He seemed to be the angry, overpowering adult and my dad the horrified victim of child abuse or something. If I hadn't been so terrified, I might have felt sorry for him.

"After that, Gohan had turned to me, almost looking satanic in his irate, sporadic behavior. It was then I knew. He was going after Trunks and God so help me, I didn't figure my old flame would survive it. Little did I know, he was expecting it: inviting it."

"What do you mean?" Mirai asked, stepping forward. "You think that was Trunk's plan all along? To get Gohan as well?"

"I don't think even the devil himself could have planned it out so perfectly." Goten sighed, sitting down again and righting himself. "He had figured on Gohan's intelligence, knowing eventually he would find out. Trunks had even known Gohan's mentality would be so far off, so enraged and chaotic that all thought process would be meager at best. He preyed on the fact that my brother had quite literally lost his mind.

"I don't know how it all went about. Only that my father and I sat quietly together on the kitchen floor for over thirty minutes, our hearts in our throats as we felt them battling it out. And it didn't take me long to figure out why my father's face suddenly paled and he whispered an audible 'shit' before covering his eyes with his palms. Gohan and Trunk's fight had turned from a violent, deadly brawl into sadistic, earth shattering sex. And from Trunk's pulsating energy, apparently, it was phenomenal."


	11. Chapter 11

"I just…" Mirai stuttered. "I just don't see how it could possibly have come about. Gohan and Trunks? Even your father and Trunks! It's… just… I can't take it all in."

Goten let out a cynical laugh, shaking his head.

"It's been years," He chuckled with no humor. "and I still can't fathom it all. It's like I can sit for days trying to figure out how exactly he pulled it off and it still escapes me. It doesn't even seem possible that one man, no matter how physically appealing, could change the views and lifestyles of so many people. Mirai, my father is straight. Or at least, for all I know, he was for a long time. I don't so much know that gender has ever really fazed my father or if in the Saiyan culture things were different then they are here. Maybe Trunks knew he could manipulate my father's beliefs by appealing to his instincts. Who knows?

"I believe Vegeta said it best once. That 'in this world, humans believe that God gives us gifts. To the worthy, He gives special powers and talents.' Vegeta believes that 'perhaps so does the devil and to Trunks, he bestowed the most powerful gift of all. The power of sexual intimidation and manipulation.' "

Mirai nodded. While logically, it was fanciful at best, in the ways of spiritual philosophy, it did make sense. A balancing perhaps between the sides of good and evil.

"Vegeta has been my only solace through the years, the only one I could speak to about these things." Goten continued. "Who else could there be? My father has gone back to life as usual, roaming about the universe, the flawless hero as ever before. Gohan speaks with no one, a recluse with his books in his own little pessimistic world. Vegeta, as surprising as it struck me, became my only confident about these matters, the only one willing to talk about it.

"I used to wonder about how much it hurt him, what my dad and Trunks did. Or maybe more specifically, what my dad did. I don't think he could ever have been surprised by Trunks' desire for my dad. In fact, I'm pretty certain he was just as aware of it as I was. But I do believe that his shock rivaled even my own when my father succumbed to it."

Goten looked up, for once his face not marred with anger or sadness, just staring with red eyes up at the sky. Mirai sighed, sitting down beside the younger man, cursing himself for understanding why Trunks found this family so fascinating. They were all beautiful. Nothing less.

With dark hair and dark eyes, it may have been hard for people to realize just how unique they could be. Every attribute was powerful though, every contour strong and defined. The shape of their eyes was even a marvel, such a contrast to the cat-like structure of Vegeta's family line. Round and shiny, it seemed the answer to every question in the universe could be found behind them and one could merely stare in the eyes of a Son and find an amount of contentment.

Their mouths were a wonder as well, not quite as thick and full as Vegeta's or Trunks' but interesting and unique to be sure. They could be wide and inviting when happy or small and compact when serious. Mirai thought about his own mouth, how sharp the lines were, how very distinct every shape was. The Son's lips were very gradual, very balanced and soft. As a family, they were simply intriguing.

"Sometimes I wonder how much there was between dad and Vegeta that we don't know about." Goten continued, oblivious to Mirai's staring. "Sometimes I wonder if they were ever really enemies at all. People will remark how odd it is that what were "mortal enemies" became what you could nearly call "friends". But I don't think that way at all. I don't believe they were ever enemies or anything close to it. I think from the minute they met each other, there was just an understanding: a rivalry but never a hatred that spawns from enmity.

"Gohan once told me that they could understand each other in a way that no one else alive could. That fighting-wise, they were two halves to a whole; their minds so insync with each other that plans could be executed without a single word being spoken. He told me that one look passing between them was like an entire conversation between other people.

"I think sometimes that we never really can understand what there is between those two. Maybe, to my dad, Vegeta sometimes seems like the father figure that he never really had, his link or tie to who and what he was. Other times, they're like brothers, inseparable twins with minds linked to one another's. They alone can share the raw passion for life and fighting that they experience. But I can't help but believe there is real love between them. I don't think Vegeta would deny caring very strongly for my father and my dad has expressed deep feeling for him many times. But I think it's a different sort of love than that between them.

"Maybe it's my newly processed "Gay" mind that brings me to these conclusions. But somehow, I don't think it is. How could you be the only person in the entire galaxy that could understand a person and visa versa, and not love them? And not want to be with them exclusively? What are the hours apart like for them? It must be like walking amongst strangers every day, with the one person you know away for the time being. The only two survivors of their race. They don't look any different but we can only imagine how their minds and thoughts must vary from ours. Imagine the thoughts and ideas and feelings that must pass between them in just a glance. Imagine what conversations they alone can hold. Like their own secret language.

"And I've seen your father Mirai. I've seen the way he looks when my father has died. It's like he can't even comprehend it. Like he just stares off with this calculating, confused look plastered on his face. Like he was just holding a conversation on the phone and the line was severed permanently. Or, as I believe mostly, that the one person that spoke his language just died and he'll be left in a world that will never understand him. But then, I wonder if even death itself can separate them or if, as I truly believe, their strength and love for one another can bend the boundaries of it.

"Imagine what we don't know Mirai. Just imagine."

With that being said, Goten yawned, slowly maneuvering his body on its side to fall back into sleep. Mirai watched as the warmth of the sun worked its magic on the young Saiyan and the lines of expression slowly melted, leaving the beautiful face carefree once more.

"Do you still love Trunks?" He whispered, wondering if Goten was too far into sleep to hear him.

"Well that's a stupid question," Goten yawned, surprising him. "Like Vegeta and my father, death itself wouldn't sever it. I'll probably love Trunks until forever burns to cinders."

……..

Trunks walked the hallways of capsule corp. passively, yawning as his assistant prattled away about accounts and business matters that meant virtually nothing to him in the moment. His mind was poisoned with thoughts of Mirai, the same way it always was when he met a new challenge. As much as people despised him for it, it seemed hardly his own fault, the idea of a new pursuit always entangling his mind until it was executed. It seemed he could think of nothing else until he had them underneath them, until he'd broken them.

And then? It was on to the next. Yet, Saiyans always had held a particular fascination for him, haunting his mind for years until he could finally have them. He had long since given up the sad attempts to purge his mind of it and gave into the raw obsession Saiyans held for him. They were the only ones worthy. They were the only ones strong enough to sate his sexual appetite. But they only lasted so long unfortunately, their consciences, or rather family members, eventually taking their toll. It was a frustration to be sure.

But Mirai now consumed him. Trunks could only describe it as a devouring, a burning from within. It had completely dissolved all other thoughts and he tritely informed his assistant to go home and stop wasting his time with useless babble. What was the use of being at work anyways? To keep up appearances? He had better things to do.

Rolling his eyes, he caught sight of his mother, cursing his luck when she spotted him and waved her son over. Reluctantly he joined her out in the garden, smirking to himself at Vegeta standing in the kitchen, staring off into nothingness, deep in his own thoughts. So like his father, off in a different world and always refusing to be part of this one. It was quite a shame though, that he had unfortunately hooked on to the social system of this planet, following their taboos as though he were a native. You would think a prince of another world would be above the social "no-no"s of a lesser planet but apparently not.

Oh well, Trunks had to shrug. All in good time.

He walked towards his mother, seeing her feeble old hands working the soil of the ground, her knees covered in it. Truth be told, she often sickened him, with her smell of approaching death, the way her body was slowly rotting around her. The way her wrinkled skin barely clutched to the bones any longer, stretchy and thin around varicose veins. She wasn't even very old, yet sicknesses in her body spoke promises of a short lifespan. Maybe it was something only a Saiyan could detect. Like a lion sniffing out the young, the sick and the feeble amongst the prey.

He crouched down beside her, removing his suit jacket and tossing it onto a lawn chair.

"You look tired," He observed, simply adoring this mindless, useless chit chatting they always had to do. It was tedious and absurd.

"I've been having odd dreams lately," she commented, rubbing her eyes with the back of a dirty hand. "They keep me up. Feels like I haven't slept at all. Your father has been having them to, or at least I believe. Maybe you've noticed, he's even more withdrawn than usual, off God knows where."

'Ah, an embittered comment about dad,' Trunks thought to himself sarcastically. 'how unpredictable.'

"What have you been up to lately," She asked, planting another flower.

Trunks smirked to himself, adoring this little game of theirs.

"Oh, you know," he grinned. "The same old. Running about, living my sexually debauched lifestyle, loving every second of it."

"Trunks," she shook her head in disapproval. "Why Trunks? Why? Why can't you just be more like…"

"Like Mirai?" He finished for her. She looked up at him quizzically, startled that he had known who she would say.

"Sorry mother dear," He spat, climbing to his feet and standing over her. "but I'll never be your neutered little boy scout."

She watched him as he went inside, shaking her head. He could see her in the window of the sliding glass door, planting another hideous weed and hating how her son had turned out. The way this game ended every single day. Check mate.

Vegeta hardly noticed him, standing against a counter and staring down at the tile, deep in thought. Trunk could only remark to himself what wonders it must be that could go through his father's mind, what universes he'd seen or what unimaginable things he'd done. Trunks' smile widened when he tried to imagine just how much sex his father had had throughout the span of his lifetime, what unbelievable species and creatures he'd pursued. The ideas were mind boggling.

He'd even seen his father at work, sneaking into his parent's bedroom with he was a young teenager. He could remember never even looking at his mother, completely mystified by the movements of his father, the way the light could gleam off every muscle in his body when he'd piston into her. The way his father had breathed, the slight moans and breathy, perverted things he'd whisper, Trunks knew sexual fascination ran in the family.

"Trunks," Vegeta said coldly, bringing him back to reality. Trunks grinned wildly, realizing he'd been staring at his father, growing hard just with memories. Ah, how hilarious life would be had he even the slightest amount of shame or embarrassment.

Vegeta stood uncomfortably, his back pressed tightly against the counter, hands clutching it. The same sort of nervousness he always had around his own son. It made Trunks wild, just imagining that Vegeta held even one thing sacred for his son, be it simply the fact that he was nervous around Trunks and no one else. He always took it for whatever sexual implications he could, walking towards his father and caring nothing for personal boundaries.

The older Saiyan tensed, perhaps fearing that at this closeness, Trunks would only need to lean in but an inch or so to kiss him, the heat from his son's body radiating against his own. He'd been on the receiving end of Trunks' sexual invitations one too many times and knew well enough to proceed with caution, however much he hated the fact.

"I heard you haven't been sleeping well," Trunks smiled sweetly, tilting his head to look at Vegeta's face from both angles, at the same time breathing hot air against the sides of his father's neck. "Bad dreams?"

"You could say that," Vegeta swallowed, leaning back farther.

"I have those sometimes too," Trunks breathed. "Keep me up for hours. The very VERY bad ones. Know what I mean?"

He let his finger trace the lower abdomen on his father, snaking a trail downwards before Vegeta viciously grabbed his hand, squeezing it painfully.

"You're a fucking nympho Trunks," The Prince hissed between his teeth, glaring angrily. "Get a hold of yourself."

"Oh please," Trunks laughed, yanking his hand away. "And where do you suppose I get it from? Mom? Oh yeah, I can just imagine it. Bulma Briefs, the hottest piece of loose pussy this end of the globe."

Vegeta looked like he might at any moment strike Trunks across the face, his mouth set into a tight scowl, eyes fiery and intense. Trunks could only grin that much wider, seeing signs of his father's sex face immerge, memories spurring him onwards as he leaned in closer.

"You know she'll be dead soon, don't you?" he asked. "You can smell it on her, can't you? Rotten, festering. I wouldn't give her more than ten years at best. And then what will you do? Hm? Who will you have then?"

He pointed out towards the window, watching as Vegeta slowly tried to calm himself.

"These humans will rot and die around you, but I'll remain. When you bury her, keep in mind, I won't age. I won't weaken to the point where I'm no longer sexually capable. For as long as you live, I'll be waiting for you to come to your senses and give up this pathetic charade. Or do these humans own that much of you that you're no longer capable of making your own decisions, big bad Prince?"

Trunks spun around, pressing his backside against his father's pelvis, feeling heat emanating from it. He cupped his hands over Vegeta's, rocking back against the shocked older man. He let his head fall back onto his father's shoulder, breathing hard against the thickly corded neck.

"You think of that when these 'bad' dreams keep you up Vegeta."

He kissed the side of the Prince's neck, slowly pushing away and walking towards the sliding glass door.

"Until then," He added, turning around to observe the flustered man. "I think you might just need a cold shower…. Daddy."


	12. Chapter 12

"Oh, Mirai…" Trunks breathed, crouched over his dresser, snorting up a line of snow white cocaine. He clacked the razor against the tiny mirror, straightening out another before inhaling it through a tightly rolled bill. "you know, you really could work on that knocking thing. One could be doing any number of things and have you waltz in."

"Like poisoning themselves?" Mirai scolded, crossing his arms and examining the younger version.

"Yeah," Trunks shrugged, straightening up. "Or…. I don't know, annoying themselves. What do you want Mirai? Or have you come here to holy roll my way into another migraine?"

"Actually, I came here to talk about Goten," Mirai answered, watching very closely for any reaction.

Trunks' face had fallen from any emotion at all, the slyness, the irritation gone and the eyes blank. He slowly walked over to a mahogany desk, opening a drawer to reveal a bottle of aged scotch, pouring himself a glass.

"Ah… so Vegeta took it upon himself to inform you about that," he shrugged, shaking his head. "And why am I no where near surprised?"

"Vegeta told me about it, true," Mirai nodded, readying himself to drop the bomb. "but I got the details from someone else. Someone… closer to the situation you could say."

"And prey tell gorgeous," Trunks grinned, walking towards the older figure. "Who might the mystery nark be?"

"Goten." Mirai said firmly. "I talked to Goten."

Every emotion once again left Trunks' face and it occurred to Mirai suddenly that perhaps this was the younger version's defense mechanism. When he was feeling the most strongly, his face fell void of all emotion, leaving his expression indecipherable. Interesting.

"You shouldn't have done that." Trunks snapped viciously, betraying his anger in but a few short words. Mirai had to step back, overwhelmed by the animosity that positively melted off of Trunks.

"And why not?" He asked calmly, crossing his arms once more.

"Because it's none of your fucking business, that's why!" Trunks hurled his glass against the wall, the pieces scattering all over his floor. "Because it doesn't concern you, or my mother, or my father, or anyone else OK?"

Trunks sat down at the edge of his bed, burying his hands in his hair. Mirai could only stare at the other man's back, seeing the muscles flex under a handsome fitting blue shirt. In all the intensity of the situation, it actually dawned on Mirai what impediments had been crushed within the span of a few short seconds, his original conclusion dashed to pieces. He had figured, (as everyone else did) that there truly was nothing more to Trunks but a nympho-lifestyle and a selfish regard for only himself. Now he gazed down in wonderment at how truly off he must have been.

Against his better judgment and caution around Trunks, Mirai lifted his hand to the other's back, rubbing in gentle circles to comfort the younger man. What had seemed a being incapable of sensation had now morphed right before his eyes into a human, or at least as close to one as Trunks could appear. So easily Mirai himself had been deceived by the flawless façade of indifference that now he could only think to himself in wonderment how wrong he had been. Trunks now seemed his age for the first time, a frustrated, confused youth only a few years younger then himself, frightened and angry.

"Trunks," Mirai breathed cautiously. "I know you don't want to talk about this. I know this is probably uncomfortable for you and I understand that. But I need to know."

Trunks glanced over at the older man, sniffing up stray grains of cocaine.

"I need to know why you did it," Mirai continued. "I need to know why you… how you could.. sleep with both Gohan and Goku afterwards. Why you felt the need to do that to yourself and to Goten."

"You want to know why," Trunks whispered so quietly.

Mirai leaned forward, desperately trying to hear. Suddenly he was on his back, tossed backwards by Trunks who was now straddling him, eyes intense.

"You want to know why I did it?" the monstrous youth smirked, grinding his sudden erection against Mirai's pelvis. "Or you want to know how it felt when I did?"

Mirai struggled to get up, pushing angrily against Trunks' chest which only seemed to ignite the bastard more.

"Admit it Mirai," Trunks breathed, pushing his forehead down against the other's, rocking his body back and forth sexually. "You must be wondering how it felt, what it was like. Being inside that tight body of Goku's, feeling his sweat pour into my face as I sucked him off something fierce."

Mirai cursed himself, feeling Trunks' forceful hand wrench its way inside his warm pants, yanking his penis loose from his boxers and slowly working him into a painful arousal.

"Or how about," Trunks bit his lip. "how about when Gohan shot his load all over my face and I made him lick it off. You should have seen it Mirai, his beautiful dark eyes fluttering while he kneeled, worshiping my tremendous cock. You should be inside them both Mirai. Poets couldn't describe the sensation."

Mirai was breathing hard, no longer resisting the hands that worked him into a constant pre-cum, the milky fluid trickling down Trunks' knuckles. The twenty-four year old was now working his body in-time with his wrists, eyes closed as he let his bottom lip slide over Mirai's cheek.

"God, you should see them when they cum Mirai," He breathed. "They both make the same face, lips curling when I swallow them down inside me. And I swear, you can taste a Saiyan for days afterwards."

Trunks suddenly lowered his body, taking the tip of Mirai's penis inside his mouth before the older one could protest. Mirai lifted off the bed, knuckles white as he fisted the blankets, lost in the sensation of Trunks' hot, wet mouth wrapped around his erection. The more anxious Mirai got, the wetter the other's mouth became, saliva and pre-cum lining the sides of his mouth as he dipped lower and lower. Mirai was nearly lifting his lower body off of the mattress, understanding now the true meaning of "no gag-reaction".

Hearing the sound of a wrapper being opened, he cracked one eye, watching as Trunks lifted upwards and undressed himself, a condom package caught between his teeth. Mirai shook his head, clearing away the blinding pleasure and praying sanity and reason would return in time.

"Oh come on Mirai," Trunks sighed, yanking down the twenty-seven year old's pants, still fisting the hot erection. "you know you want this just as badly as I do. You burn for it."

He moved upwards, still straddling the other as he began unbuttoning Mirai's shirt, revealing the heaving, sweating torso of his older self.

"You want to know what it's like, don't you?" He smiled, sliding his fingers over the shapely pectorals of the other, tugging the shirt free from chiseled shoulders. "You want to know how it feels to be inside me. To be a part of me. Or to feel me just… slide right in."

He moved over the other, placing his face flat against the side of Mirai's. Their soft, bare chest moved against each other, hot skin plastered together.

"I can make you more complete then you've ever been and you'll adore me for it. Mirai, you told me I could have you once I'd seen another side of the world. But let me show you mine first."

It took every ounce of will power for Mirai to push the other away, wrenching a solid "no" from his lips before collapsing back against the moist bedspread. Trunks merely gazed at him, anger apparent on every line of his face.

"Maybe not now then," The younger version spat out. "But eventually."

With that he ducked down, taking Mirai's cock between his lips once more and sucking furiously. Mirai could barely breathe, let alone resist; in a world of pleasure and guilt, feeling each flick and movement of Trunks' tongue. The hot, tight cheeks wound painfully around every inch until Mirai pounded the sides of the bed, releasing a thick spurt of cum into Trunks' mouth.

Mirai fell back against the covers, heart pounding painfully in his chest, saliva drying on his flaccid cock. Trunks just stared at him, swallowing down the creamy taste that was himself in nearly every sense. What an odd sensation he had to think to himself, curious to find out if every single aspect of Mirai in bed was a replica of his own preferences.

He stood finally, ignoring his own arousal and pulling his pants up. He watched for another moment as his older self just lay there breathing, eyes fluttering around behind shapely lids. The beautiful, immaculate creature that could slay Trunks' infatuation by doing absolutely nothing. He couldn't even recall a time when he'd been so aroused.

Shrugging it off, he rounded the bed, preparing to take a cold shower in the bathroom a few rooms down. He nearly jumped, feeling Mirai's hand come around his wrist, piercing blue eyes staring up at him.

"Why haven't you spoken to him in 4 years Trunks?" The beautiful mouth breathed. "Why did you let him go so easily?"

Trunks swallowed, feeling pressure rise to his head. His mouth set in a tight, firm line, eyes furious as he gazed down.

"Because he made me feel," he said simply, walking to the door and standing in the frame. "He made me feel and I didn't like it."

……….

"Trunks."

He inwardly cringed at her shrill voice, heightened it seemed by the festering death that rigged her ageing body. God how he despised talking to her.

"Yes mother dear," He said in a sugar sweet voice which sickened even him. He turned to see her, standing there in the hall way, her body short and compact beneath the fluorescent lights.

"I don't suppose you've been lurking around my lab lately, have you?" She asked in that motherly way, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding him as though she were his superior.

"And why would I ever do that?" He rolled his eyes.

She watched his facial features for a moment, perhaps fooling herself into believing she could ever read him if he didn't consent to it. He was tempted to roll his eyes again.

"That's odd then." She said, glancing down as her expression turned into confusion. "One of my latest projects is missing."

"And what one would that be?" he asked, not truly giving a damn but humoring the old fool regardless.

"Ohh…" she mulled on useless, apparently none-too-concerned. "I suppose it's not that important. Probably would have never worked anyways. Just some old one that dissects memories and brain waves and yada yada."

"Hm.." he merely shrugged, having heard less than half of that. "Maybe Mirai snuck in there. Or don't you think the immaculate bone-able boy scout could be capable of such a thing?"

His mother's expression caught him off guard, turning from surprise to almost horror in a matter of seconds. He couldn't even remember a time when she'd seemed so blatantly unpredictable and his alarm put his entire body on edge.

"Why would you say something like that Trunks?" she whispered, just staring at him with her wide, prying eyes.

'Oh,' he had to chuckle to himself. 'Should have left out the bone-able part.'

"Please mom," He sighed, turning away from her. "Have you SEEN the man? Get over it."

But in the back of his mind, and for whatever reason, he almost wondered if there wasn't more to this little conversation then just the word "bone-able". He walked down the hallway, leaving her behind as she watched his back with an unreadable expression.

………………

"So you're here again," He mulled out, perhaps too drunk for his own good as he leaned over a swirling glass of God-knows-whatever the bartender had cooked up for him. Mirai stood over him, facial features portraying the same disappointment that they always did and that never ceased to remind him of his mother's. "What is it this time Mirai? Come to cure me of my evil ways? Release me from my evil deeds?"

He threw his glass across the room, shattering it nearby an interracial couple that didn't seem too pleased with his outburst and promptly raised their fingers towards him.

"Well hallelujah!" He bawled out in a southern accent, catching Mirai off guard. "Praise the lord! I have FOUND the JESUS!"

Mirai just glared down at him in that infuriating superiority act.

"Now that you've shown me the error of my ways Saint Mirai," Trunks spat, "why don't you go find me another drink." Turning towards the bartender he added, "and something that preferably DOESN'T taste like cow piss!"

"I think you've had enough," Mirai said, sitting down next to him and running a hand through his hair in a rare display of compassion.

"But don't you get it Mirai?" Trunks grinned, barely able to lift his head from the table. "That's just it. There is no such thing as enough."

Mirai just stared at him, the gorgeous face that should have been a replica of his own as unreadable and foreign as a complete stranger. Eyes staring into Trunks' own that should have been a mirror of himself yet remained as mysterious as an abused child's. Unreadable, untouchable yet undeniably sad.

Perhaps it was his drunken state and it very well was, but Trunks had to let his mind wander for a moment, mulling over what it was that made them so different. What it was that made Mirai feel so strongly and what it was that made him so numb. And he was, he knew that much. It wasn't a mystery or something he had any intention of denying. He didn't feel the way these humans did or even his other Saiyan counterparts. He realized that and he embraced it. Until now.

Now he sat there like a complete drunken idiot, pondering over what it was behind those gorgeous blue eyes that made his own seem dull and lifeless; like looking into the eyes of something dead. What made Mirai's so much more beautiful than his own?

And more importantly it seemed, what had Mirai seen in his lifetime that made them so different? They'd both seen battles, both been in battles. Both seen blood and death and hardship. Yet it stayed with Mirai. Maybe that was it. It stained Mirai with time and with inward bruises of what he'd gone through. Where Trunks could let it go and return to life as usual, pain seemed to create Mirai more than destroy. Almost like it was as much a part of him as his own flesh and blood. Yes, pain created Mirai. And maybe, just maybe, it rotted away at Trunks.

"You loved him, didn't you Trunks?" Mirai asked, awakening him from his thoughts. "You loved Goten, didn't you? You felt that strongly and it scared you."

Trunks sat there, just swallowing the bile that always rose into his throat when talking about Goten.

"Is that it then?" Mirai whispered, holding the back of his head. "You fell in love and it horrified you?"

Swallowing the sick grunge in his throat, Trunks merely regarded Mirai, his fingers fastened together beneath the table.

"No." He spat. "That's not it."

"But it has to be," Mirai insisted. "Why else would you-.."

"Don't you get it?!" Trunks slammed his fist down on the table top. "You brain dead pretty boy! There is no such THING as love. None. You got that? It's the right amount of chemicals released into your brain to create a false, euphoric feeling of companionship. But that whole "love" thing they show you in the movies and that humans fool themselves into believing they feel…" He glared, clenching his teeth. "That's nothing more than a fanciful legend, a pretty little myth that humans would die to believe in simply to confirm that there IS actually a reason to live. It's a false idea created by false hopes. Pathetic if you ask me."

Mirai had remained quiet the entire time, watching this reiterated outburst with an unreadable expression. Trunks finally gave up trying to decipher it and began pulling out a cigarette, perfectly content to drink himself into a coma.

"But what if I could show you that it exists?" Mirai whispered. "What if I could prove to you that there is such a thing as real love? What then?"

"Impossible," Trunks merely scoffed, snatching up a lighter and tending to his cigarette.

"Three chances Trunks," Mirai grinned, holding up three fingers. "You give me three chances and I'll show you three examples of love. If at the end you don't believe in it, then I'm yours. What do you say to that?"

Trunks looked at him, trying once more to understand this strange being that should have been exactly like himself. The idea was preposterous yet the prize to be won not exactly shabby. And so with a wicked grin and a nod of his head, Trunks agreed.

"I say I'll drink to that."

**A/N: Hey guys, just wanted to take a moment to really thank the readers and the reviewers for taking the time out of their busy lives to extent encouragement to me. I've had a VERY tough bout' of it lately, lots of kinda difficult stuff coming my way and I just really want to hug each and every person that took the time out of their day to just say a kind word to me. Even the smallest bit of kindness is priceless when someone is having a hard day and a lot of times, I don't think people really appreciate the effect the tiniest amount of thoughtfulness can have. **

**So really, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who reviewed or who emailed me when I truly needed it. :)**


	13. Chapter 13

The sun stretched through the cracks of the window shades, peeling through his eyelids and blinding him to the morning that seemed to always fill him with the dread of another day; not even to mention, the dread of one fucking wicked hang over. He groaned, turning his face away only to be met with the cold air as his blankets were ripped away from his body.

"Wake up," Mirai's voice commanded him, a pillow being wrenched from underneath his head. "We have places to go today."

"Well unless those 'places' involve one-way trips to My-Cock-City, I don't give a flying fuck." Trunks growled. "Get out."

"Hmm..." Mirai sighed, placing a false motherly look upon his face. "No such luck handsome prince. You promised me last night, remember? Three chances. I figure we might as well start today."

"Well," Trunks grumbled, reaching in vain for his lost blankets. "Why can't 'today' start at 2:00 o' clock? I'm exhausted."

"I suppose 13 Long Islands' could do that to a person." Mirai replied blandly.

"Is that was I was drinking?" Trunks moaned, smacking his lips in repulsion. "I was just sure the bartender had jerked off into a cup and sprayed it down with coke."

"Well," Mirai cocked his head to the side. "That might have explained some of the projectile vomiting."

"Vomiting?" Trunks groaned, trying to sort through memories that were so sporatic it was dizzying.

"Fraid' so." Mirai nodded. "It was like watching the Exorcist all over again. And something of a puppet show on the way back in the car. Or at least that's the conclusion I came to. By God Trunks, I figured you were an entertaining drunk, just for a different reason."

"Bite me." Was the only reply.

----------------

Trunks' attitude was less than pleasant as Mirai drove his precious Lamboughini at about the same speed as two snails would procreate, weaving them through Sunday traffic. The older version had said very little, setting a solemn, boring mood for the day as Trunks planned for the worst. He had no idea what the other had in mind but was certain it was to be a very tedious display of emotional diareah and he longed to be spending the day commiting some interesting form of debauchery instead. Damn him for making this deal in the first place, and damn Mirai for appealing to the desperate inclinations of a horny, drunk idiot.

"So do you intend to at least tell me where we're going or are you just kidnapping me for the fun of it, you old perve?" He spat.

Mirai was less than impressed, rolling his eyes and grumbling something about not being old and looking a far cry better than some drowned out, tweaked out, hung-over mess. He was greeted by the middle finger in response.

As they pulled into the parking lot of a local hospital, a feeling of intrigue swept over Trunks and he vowed silently to hear his counterpart out, if only for the rich 'reward' he'd receive for his good behavior. He grinned, following behind Mirai as they walked towards the entrance, imagining all of the sick, twisted and morally depraved things he intended to do with his 'reward'. By God, it would be earth shattering to finally reach that goal he'd been obsessing over since meeting the older man, the fantasies alone tormenting him.

As much as Mirai claimed to be showing him a different world, in Trunks' opinion, Mirai didn't even live in it. The hero, the good soldier, the bodacious, brawny boy scout that he was, Mirai pillaged his reality by refusing to accept it, taunted on by the human ideals of love and relationships, and all other sources of fanciful foolishness. As much as Mirai wanted to open Trunks' mind, in many ways, he was very narrow-minded himself. Maybe that was the irony of life; that everyone saw everyone else as shallow and empty simply because they hadn't walked the same paths and suffered the same falls as each other. Cursed to always believe that no one could ever truly understand their predicaments. Funny.

Mirai led them through corridors in the hospital, the busy nurses and doctors paying them as little mind as a person might to the scurrying little ant about to be met with his or her foot. And that was what people were to each other, Trunks mused. Ants. Insignificant vessels that once in a while crashed into each other, effecting the other's lives only for that moment only to be forgotten in the next. A worthless existance for certain.

Coming to a random wooden door, Mirai glanced around, making sure that no one was looking before grabbing a large clipboard that had been stashed outside of the room, before entering.

"Susan Palmer," Mirai announced, reading the typed print. "brutally raped by 6 different men all in the same night."

"All in one night hm?" Trunks asked, moving towards the bed where a young blonde lay sleeping, hooked up with tubes. Every inch of her skin looked discolored with bruises, gashes along her cheek bones and welts still raised on her throat where they had choked her while doing it. Confusion plagued his mind, unsure as to why they were here or why he was subjected to staring at her pain expression.

"She was just walking home," Mirai said quietly, taking a seat on the opposite side of the room, Trunks sitting right next to her bed. "a white girl walking in a prominently Hispanic part of town. I suppose her youth and gullibility made her the perfect target, as she was waved inside a house by a man no more then three years her senior. She was never the popular girl, never the one that made a lot of friends or even knew much of anyone. Loneliness can be the worst enemy of all, Trunks. It clouded her judgment."

Trunks shrugged slightly, clenching his teeth at the first feelings of pity, washing it away as quickly as it had come. Pity was for idiots, he reminded himself. Pity was for people who let themselves be weakened by it into displaying mercy towards those who didn't deserve it.

"For six hours they took turns beating her tiny womb until there was hardly anything left," Mirai continued, oblivious to Trunks' silent reprove. "raping her until she was bleeding all over the carpet. Between card games and booze, they would leave, ravaging every part of her body until eventually, blissfully, she passed out. When they all awoke, they had thought for sure she was dead. So they wrapped her naked, broken 16 year old body in a sheet and dumped her in one of the worst allies in the city.

"It took doctors nine hours to save her life. Nine hours of sculpting back pieces of her uterus and healing inward vaginal tears. But in nine hours you can't heal a shattered heart. Fix the broken outer body but the insides will still lay in pieces. She lies there now," he gestured. "perfectly capable of awakening. But she won't. Her parents come, whispering their love. She could respond but their voices sound like screaming; her screaming. It doesn't take a heart giving up for a person to die."

Trunks swallowed, looking at the girl whose eyelashes were pretty and light, her skin probably having been so beautiful at one time. Now, despite clumps of her hair missing, bloodied pieces of scalp peeping from behind gauze and bandages, she still was pretty. An agonizing beauty, hard to look at.

"What will happen to her?" He whispered, taking her hand against what every previous inclination would have instructed. Her digits felt limp and dead against his palm, so fragile and tiny. White little fingers disappearing in his hand, like a child's.

"It will be hard for Susan," Mirai breathed, face crumpled in sadness. "Her life will never be the same again. She's pregnant and she'll never know who the father is."

Trunks gasped, staring at the tiny 16 year old girl and hardly believing that anything so small and young could be capable of having a child.

"I thought you were trying to teach me love," He spat out hatefully, angered that this insignificant girl he didn't even know could move him. Could touch him. Could make him hold her clammy, cold fingers in his palm, reaching out to move a limp strand of hair from her face. He hated feeling. He hated this...this sense of emptiness that suddenly engulfed him. Empathy? He had never known such a thing. And why the fuck would he want to?

"Susan will learn it in a way you never could, Trunks." Mirai said suddenly. "A mute girl crumpling on the steps of an abortion agency, screaming with no voice for the strength enough to make it into that hospital and kill the reminder of what they'd done. Banging in her fury on the steps, three times in one week, begging that God give her just enough energy to make it up those steps. But she never will." He said quietly, staring in contemplation. "Maybe, it's strength alone that keeps her down.

"And until she suffers thirteen hours of agonizing labor, crying out for the first time, she'll never know what it is to love something so completely. Until she holds that child in her arms, the adoption agency trying to yank it from her grasp, she'll never know what it means to fight for something with all your heart. They'll shove contracts in her face, threaten, bribe, speak in kind voices asking what is best for the child. But she'll be relentless, holding her first love against her chest, never letting go.

"And she'll never know what it means to forgive the unforgivable until she takes her child home for the first time; until she sobs her silent tears, whispers in her renewed voice promises of a beautiful life. Susan will fight for that child every day. Ironic that so many women abort a child of rape, trying to escape the memory, not wanting to be reminded. And Susan will thank God every day that she b can /b be reminded of her struggle and pain; to know and see every second of every day why it was worth it a thousand times.

"That's love Trunks. That's love."

The tiny hand in his palm suddenly moved, fingers wrapping around his own and startling Trunks.

"She'll awake now to a world of sadness and pain," Mirai whispered, moving over towards them. "And the sun won't shine in Susan's world until the day Sebastian smiles up at her with beautiful blue eyes."

"She has a tight grip," Trunks smiled slightly, staring down at her.

"She's strong." He mused.

"She'll need it." Mirai said.

"I think that's the human flaw. In response to misunderstanding, they seek justice by always concluding the worst of intentions from the offending party."


	14. Chapter 14

Trunks sat staring off at nothing in particular, drowning in his own thoughts. Mirai had long since gone, leaving without a word and closing the door that now struck Trunks as very far away. Susan hadn't moved, her tiny fingers still wrapped around his thumb like an infant, something, he mused, she was in a sense. Young, naive, gullible and punished as a result of all three. And here he sat like a love sick fool, completely infatuated by her; obsessed and unable to tear himself away.

Her pretty face, so mauled by tubes and crude bandages, remained to him, a precious painting; a morbid work of art. She was the immovable marble that a artist had fallen in love with, working years to create the result that was on its own, perfection. And yet, she wasn't a painting, or an unfeeling statue. She was human and it struck him as odd that he wanted to see her as something else. Something untouchable, something that couldn't experience all of the torment Mirai had promised she would.

Maybe that was the reasoning behind it. As much as he adored inflicting pain, he couldn't understand it. It was as though he were throwing pebbles at a rock base, completely incapable of truly effecting it. Or perhaps, in Susan's case, he only wished it were true. That she was a rock, that she was unbreakable, untamable. That despite the enormous cruelties inflicted upon her, she could remain uneffected.

It was the first time in a long time that he actually felt compelled to protect something. The first time in a long time he actually cared about something other than himself. And he felt sickened by it. 

Twisting his hand away from hers, he stood up, nearly crying out in fear when cold, hard fingers wrapped around his wrist. His eyes darted downwards, catching the icy blue peering out from bruised lids, blood surrounding one in a haunting gaze. Susan had opened her eyes.

He felt as a deer must feel, caught in the oncoming headlights and horrified at the resounding horn. He gazed at her face, terrified but entranced that his granite figure had morphed into this tiny girl that was staring up at him. There was nothing in her eyes that registered knowledge or understanding, only a cold, calculating stare. And for as blue as they were, Trunks could only see her eyes as though they belonged to a dead corpse, dull and lifeless.

She had been damaged and despite the shards that doctors had strived so hard to sew back together, Trunks knew now what Mirai had meant when he'd said that inside, Susan lay in pieces. 

Mirai had flown what seemed for hours, trying to decipher so many questions that littered his mind like confetti. Had Trunks registered anything that Mirai had told him? Had he cared? Had he been touched by any of it? As much as Mirai had prided himself on reading emotions, Trunks was simply a master at hiding them, perhaps even more skilled than even HE realized. Mirai had watched the younger version, waiting after each word to see any change, but it had never come and only cold indifference had appeared on the beautiful face.

Yet even after he had left, the young tyrant sat, holding the tiny girl's hand in his, staring off into space. Mirai could only shake his head. As much as people complained that Trunks was a mystery, Mirai himself was more confused than any of them. It was easy to believe that the younger man felt nothing, experienced nothing in the way of emotion. It was always easier to assume the worst in a cruel person than to explore the reasons as to why they'd become that way in the first place.

It was a human flaw to see meanness as a reflection of heartlessness. But to see Trunks as a person, to try and imagine there was much more to him than anyone else could believe? That was the difficult part and Mirai cursed himself, torn between the idea that there WAS perhaps good in the younger Saiyan, and torn between the idea that maybe he just wanted there to be and was disillusioning himself in the pursuit of it.

Sensing the desired Ki, Mirai touched down on the outskirts of what appeared to be some sort of cave, a wide, red door leading into it. Ignoring his manners, he walked right in, appalled by the dust and cobwebs that met him inside a dreary, musty room. The only light was a small, oval window in the corner, rays clouded by particles of dust as they reached down and illuminated the form of a young man, face nestled in the binding of a book.

Taking in his surroundings, Mirai had to twist his face in disgust, the room completely covered in soot and dirt from the small fire place. The walls consisted of countless books and papers, a mattress serving as a bed in the corner. Old, dirty dishes sat tipped over on a wooden table, pieces of dried food stuck to the unwashed surfaces. It was appalling, and as he made his way over towards the sleeping man, his feet crunched the corpses of large insects that had remained unsquashed throughout their lifetimes. 

Touching the man's shoulder and attempting not to startle him, Mirai was shocked when he found himself thrown half way across the room, landing with a crash as he knocked over the table. The young man stood over him, eyes red and glazed with sleep, fury plastered over handsome features.

"Trunks," was the only word that was spat through unbrushed, yellowed teeth, and Mirai winced as a fist came flying towards his chest. Rock and debris shattered all around them and the attacker blinked in astonishment, unable to believe that he had missed. What should have been a direct, fatal blow had failed and his only result consisted of bruised and bloodied knuckles.

"Calm down," a voice said behind him. "I'm not Trunks, I'm Mirai. I believe we met once when you were much younger."

The attacker visually calmed, feeling the warmth of two hands holding his shoulders.

"That's right." The voice said softly. "Do you remember me?"

The attacker closed his eyes.

"Do you remember me Gohan?"


	15. Chapter 15

Trunks walked slowly through the deprived ghetto, feet kicking dirty old cans and slidding over wet cigarette butts. The rain tainted the writing on the paper, the blue ink running down and dripping to the soaked earth beneath. For once, Trunks' vanity was forgotten as his hair lay in limp tussles over his forehead, the polluted water stinging his eyes. Somewhere in the distance a baby cried, abandoned it seemed as its desperate calls were never answered, its shrill cries becoming faint until almost entirely drowned out by the falling rain and crackling thunder.

Lightening lit up the blackened sky, illuminating a dead body, stashed beneath an iron stairwell with only a thin leg peeping beneath what seemed to be wallpaper that covered up the tired corpse of a heroin addict. In the distance, Trunks could make out the sounds of laughter coming from the inside of a dank, old, brick building. Looking at the address on the paper, written so slobbishly by an officer, Trunks glanced up again, walking towards the sounds.

"Not enough evidence," he'd been told. "not enough proof."

Suddenly the door opened and a drunk man stumbled out into the rain, lightening cracking above as he spotted Trunks standing there, staring at him with a wet piece of paper clutched in his shapely hands.

"What do you want?" The dark haired drunk stammered out, stumbling sideways as he walked.

Trunks could only smile, his eyes revealing a sudden madness that unnerved the drunk. Pearly white teeth reflected the lightening that struck once more in the sky, quickly followed by thunder and beautiful burgundy lips saying only one word.

"Nothing."

* * *

"Mirai, sit down." Gohan instructed, pointing towards the overturned table. Mirai lifted it into standing position, quickly pulling out an old wooden chair and taking a seat. The dark haired man, did the same, rolling up his worn sleeves and placing his elbows on the table.

"I'm going to presume this isn't a courtesy call," The young man breathed, eyes looking tired and worn from lack of sleep. Mirai could only stare in disappointment at Gohan's appearance, the fire and courage all but burnt away in his eyes. The once shining white skin now clung to thin, sunken cheeks, pale and dirty. Hair that once stood as proudly and as inappropriately as his father's now lay worn and greasy against Gohan's face that despite its cruel negligence and horrible five o'clock shadow, still retained its inherit beauty.

"Please don't look at me that way Mirai," Gohan breathed in a voice that seemed seldom used. "I know you didn't come all of this way to stare at my remains so get out with it. I don't have all day."

"Actually," Mirai cocked his head towards the mountains of books that lay everywhere. "I think you do."

"Hm," Gohan grunted with slight humor. "Touche."

He feebly raised himself from the table, walking with his back turned towards Mirai.

"You came to talk to me about Trunks, didn't you?" He asked. "You're trying to save him, to fix him."

The words were spoken with unconcealed animosity and Mirai inwardly winced at their harshness.

"I simply want to know a few things, old friend," Mirai answered. "And since I'm convinced you don't get many visitors on a regular occasion, I didn't expect you'd turn me away."

"Mirai," Gohan breathed. "you can't fix something that was never broken in the first place."

"I know that," the other answered, tracing designs nervously ontop the wooden surface of the table. "I only want to understand it all. To understand...your part in everything."

Gohan grunted in humor, thin shoulders shaking with it.

"Can't put it together can you?" He laughed with little humor. "Can't for the life of you understand how a straight, family man such as myself could do such a thing."

He took a seat once more across from Mirai, folding his hands on the table.

"You want to know the story don't you?" He asked. "You want to understand it but what you FIRST must understand and come to grips with is that Trunks never made me gay. He couldn't have. He doesn't have that sort of power."

"I understand," Mirai nodded. "One experience doesn't make you g-.."

"No." Gohan interrupted. "What you need to understand is that I was always gay."

Mirai sat back in his chair, taking in the admittance. Gohan sat patiently, watching the other man's reaction with unconcealed interest, waiting for the confession to sink in.

"That's right Mirai," He whispered. "And know that I was never in love with Trunks. I never felt anything for him, not even at the time. I fear now that if I were to ever see him again, my reaction would be precisely the one you met with only a few moments ago. Only, I can promise I would not miss if it were him."

Mirai nodded, goading Gohan to continue.

"I suppose I should tell you my story from the beginning," Gohan sighed. "I ought to tell you that I was always gay, that from a young age I realized that I had no interest in women whatsoever. I suppose my darling mother, rest her soul, played her own part in my disinterest and my beautiful father taunted it. I was constantly around attractive men, raised amongst their chiseled bodies and alluring faces. For the longest time I felt as though I might fall in love with my tutor, Piccolo, as he showed me affection that wasn't a direct result of being related to me. He was my father, my brother, my best friend and in my own capacity, my future lover. Of course, that never panned out for reasons that are of no concern to you so I'll skip them.

"I was confused for the longest time, unable to accept this growing need for attachment, for sex, for everything else that ought not to be shared between two men. And as much as I assumed I would never love anything or anyone in the same way that I loved my teacher, I was cruelly and coldly mistaken. I fell in love with someone Mirai," Gohan got to his feet. "I fell as hard as I've ever fell, for someone that I knew even at the time I could never truly have, I could never possess. Perhaps that was part of the attraction, the need to be broken and be forever miserable; a slave to the one I wanted more than anything I could think of. As a direct result of this useless, one-sided love affair, I was to make the two biggest mistakes of my life.

"My first mistake was to marry myself to Videl and the other to fall prey to Trunks."

"Then who was it?" Mirai asked, sitting forward on the table. "It doesn't make any sense. How could your affection for someone make you prey to Trunks? I'm not understanding you."

"Of course you don't," Gohan answered, turning to look at the handsome Saiyan. "But you will when I tell you the victim of my faulty infatuation."

"Who then?" Mirai pleaded. "Who?"

"Who else could hold my obsession so completely?" The dark haired man smiled. "Who else could make me prey to such a monster? Who else other than the one that resembled the monster so completely that I could fool myself purposefully into believing it was my obsession himself?"

"What are you saying?" Mirai asked. "You speak in riddles Gohan."

The dark head shook itself in frustration.

"You," He answered flatly. "I was in love with you Mirai."

Blue eyes stretched themselves to their limit as Mirai's lids flew open and he stammered so quickly to his feet that the chair beneath him was nearly embedded into a wall.

"Oh don't make a fuss of it," Gohan sighed, waving the other away. "I've long since given up on such stupidity and desperation. You could even say I've adopted Trunks' horrid beliefs on love and the uselessness of it all. But yes, I fell in love with you as surely as anyone throughout history has fallen. Before anyone else knew you, I trusted you. Before anyone else had any concept of who you truly were, I was prideful enough to believe I did. I saw your heart, Mirai," Gohan whispered. "I saw it right through your shirt and it was golden and beautiful and full of goodness."

Mirai remained quiet, uneasy as Gohan paced the room, speaking in his own riddles.

"I could have written countless poems to you, but it would have done no good." He continued. "I could have promised you stars and sunrises, yet it would all have been in vain. And so I watched you quietly, seeking a way to gain your approval, to be seen through your beauteous eyes as something worthy of admiration and even, perhaps later, adoration. But you didn't. You never did. You couldn't see me the way I wanted you to. You believed above all in goodness and in the power of physical strength. For an entire year I trained with my father, believing that if only I could be strong enough, I could stand out to you.

"You even died before I could show you my true strengths and I thought in those moments that as your heart lay in bloody pieces that mine had been shattered and blown from my body as well. It was the loss of you that made me fight so hard, though others would believe differently. No, I loved you more than I even loved my own father, as atrocious as that may strike some. And when I won, people believed it was my father's strength that spurned me on. But it wasn't. It was the strength of my rage and the power of my loss that drove me to demolish the monster that had cost me, what seemed at the time to be, everything.

"And yet, even when you were brought back to me, as healthy as the day I'd first met you, you said nothing but dull, droned out praise that might have been set aside for anyone. My father chose to leave and yet I didn't mourn his loss as much as the day I realized you would leave, go back to your time and would probably think nothing of me. I think every version of me must have fallen in love with you Mirai. I even imagine that the Gohan of your time could not have spent so many hours gazing into your eyes and not be filled with an ethereal wonderment.

"But you left me Mirai, and I believed I would never see you again. I drowned myself into work and books and writing to ease the feelings of betrayal that overwhelmed me. I learned to smile even when I felt that inside I was laying in multiple pieces upon the ground, watching some drone entertain and please people with my body. But everywhere I looked, I saw your face. You would stare out at me from the screen of a computer, reach with your fingertips through pages of books and in my dreams you haunted me until I truly believed I was losing my mind.

"I even married the first person who showed any interest for just that reason. Because Videl seemed interested and the pain of your rejection had left me feeling as naked and insecure as I had ever felt. Was it true that no one could love me? And yet, here a young girl promised just such a thing and I was overwhelmed by it. I succumb to her as surely as I succumb to Trunks.

"Even when my daughter was born, I couldn't love her. I couldn't care for her as much as I cared for you. You think it would have faded by then but her blue eyes could only remind me of yours and so I remained cold even towards my own flesh and blood.

"Trunks could only impress me with his brashness, never control me with it. The things he would say could shock and appall yet never make me a slave towards it. I respected his open world, his absolute refusal to be tamed by human social expectancy, refusal to care about his own sexual preference. I think I even envied it, or perhaps, was embittered by it simply because if THIS Trunks was gay than, I could only reason, you must have been as well. Maybe if only I'd had Trunks' boldness, I concluded with myself, then, perhaps, I would have had the strength enough to reveal the truth to you. But that is all in the past and not to be pondered over again."

Mirai nodded solemnly, unsure what to feel at the moment. He had never for once imagined or believed such a thing. Gohan had been exactly as Gohan had described; nothing really. Mirai HAD ignored him, HAD overlooked him. In fact, had never really given him a second's thought afterwards. He'd only been a child when Mirai had known him in this time and though powerful, still, in the body of an 11 year old. How was he to know that as physically strong as Gohan was, he loved just as powerfully?

"But then how did it happen? How did you and Trunks...?"

"Ah," Gohan nodded. "I was sure I would have to answer this question and yet, now I'm uncertain as to how. I suppose the truth would be the best way yet I'm compelled to create and justify reasons. As horrible as it was to marry Videl when I never truly loved her in ANY sense of the word, the following story is much harder to confess, let alone relive.

"As I watched my mother die, it created within me a great deal of pain. For a while there, I felt as though the pain of losing her would engulf the pain of losing you. In fact, I think it did. I would watch her, the skin barely clinging to her feeble bones and I would feel as though the outward rotten, festering result of sickness that she displayed was what I, on a regular basis, felt on the inside. She was the portrayal of my inward pain and when she died, it was though, if I perhaps didn't look at her any longer, maybe I could forget the maggot infested sores that littered my subconscious. It didn't work of course, but it numbed the pain until it could be replaced by a different emotion.

"And soon enough it was as Goten, goaded on by my animosity, revealed to me that my own father had betrayed my mother with Trunks. It is selfish of me to feel, but I honestly felt as though he had betrayed me, caring nothing for MY pain in losing her. I should have known and maybe I had in my own way, but when it was all revealed to me, anger replaced all sadness and completely consumed me.

"I thought for sure that I would kill my father. In fact, I wanted to and had he moved in any which direction, I might have; all the pain, all the sadness burnt and disintegrated by my rage. I hardly even remember flying towards Trunks and I don't even recall if there were words that passed between us before I began hammering away at his beautiful face that was yours and that had betrayed me. There was hardly a distinction between you, as he was the age then that you were when I had met you for the first time, and I didn't know which one of you I hated more.

"Only after some time did he begin fighting back and though I had every intention of quite literally sending him to hell, I learned quickly, I couldn't."

"Because your goodness wouldn't let you?" Mirai asked.

"Oh no," Gohan laughed. "If I had any goodness in me at the time it was too far away to be recalled. No, I mean only that physically, Trunks is stronger."

Mirai gasped, nearly jumping up from his chair once more. How could that be? It hardly seemed logical since Gohan had undoubtedly been the strongest when he had left and the Trunks of this time seemed to have little, to no interest in gaining physical strength through training. Not only that, but Mirai was more than certain that Vegeta would have rather died than spend that much time with Trunks.

"You look as surprised as I was." Gohan continued. "It still escapes me how he could have so easily beaten me to the ground. Perhaps I was weakened by his appearance, unable to defeat or kill anything that so closely resembled you. But no. No, I don't believe it was that at all, since in my insanity and rage, I would have killed you just the same. No, Trunks is the strongest now, second only to perhaps Vegeta or my father, though neither can I be sure. He had beaten me to the ground holding me beneath him and pinning my arms to my sides. And then he said the words that sent my mind on a mental rollercoaster.

" 'Stop fighting me. And mostly, stop fighting yourself Gohan'.

"I had never thought of it that way. That all this sadness, all this anger; it wasn't towards him! It wasn't towards my father or my mother or you or anyone else. I was angry and in denial about who I was. I had fallen in love with the unattainable simply because it WAS that. Something to punish myself with, something to make me hate every fabric of my being. I was so in denial and ashamed at who I truly was that I would go to the length of marrying a heterosexual woman to hide it.

"And when Trunks kissed me..." Gohan paused, looking thoughtfully at nothing. "When Trunks kissed me it was the first and the last time I ever truly felt alive."

Mirai remained respectfully quiet, watching as Gohan's face for only a second resembled its old self, the life and light returning to his cheeks and his eyes blinking away the dullness for just a moment.

"It was as though he were God Himself, breathing life into my lungs and opening my eyes for the first time. It was almost as though when I opened them, I saw color in the world as though I'd never seen it before. Like he had painted the sky just for me. Like the flowers and trees and grass and everything about me was living and breathing because he had made them that way. Like I was this thriving, living, moving creation that had once been only a lifeless statue walking amongst the beauty of the world. And I succumb to it and I was consumed by it.

"I let him control me completely, like the hands that held my strings and made me dance for them. As much freedom as I can remember feeling, I was his slave in every sense of the word. The things he made me do, the things he made me think, the way he made me feel." Gohan shook his head. "How can that be life? How can that be the moment that I felt as though I'd just broken out of my own coffin?

Yet it was. I suppose I owe him gratitude for that yet he'll never get it. No, Trunks made me live but it was a borrowed life. It was his life and I believe he gave that to me in those few moments that we spent as one person. Perhaps that's why he offers no apologies and no regrets for the life that he lives. Because I received in those moments only a taste of his life and it is as unbelievable and inconceivable as anything the world can offer you. How in any way, could he ever feel regret for that which I will envy until the very last breath I take?"


	16. Chapter 16

Mirai suddenly bolted to his feet, sensing a cold stirring sensation in his stomach.

"Do you feel that?" He asked, staring off at nothing and trying to decipher why it felt like Trunks' power level was fluctuating so violently. Gohan shook his head, eyes rolling slightly.

"As if," he sighed. "It's been quite some time since I could discern Ki levels let alone distinguish between them."

Mirai was hardly listening, using his mental radar to calculate just how far away Trunks could be. Why was he suddenly faced with this cold dread in the pit of his stomach? Why were his hands shaking?

"Hell," Gohan was continuing to ramble, oblivious to the fact that he was more or less being ignored. "I can't even sense your power level, even here in this room. It's been that way for quite a while and..."

He trailed off, his face suddenly covered with a dull, confused look. Mirai, no longer hearing the other man's voice, turned to see Gohan stumbling around the room, staring as though he could no longer see anyone else around him. He fell forward as though he were blind, eyes bright red and filled with a bizzare look of puzzlement.

"No," Gohan breathed to himself. "I wasn't here, I was..." he shook his head, blinking hard. "I was sleeping. I was..."

Mirai frowned, torn between staying where he was or finding Trunks as fast as he could, the latter seeming a tad more pressing at the moment. Gohan blissfully decided for him, clumzily tripping over to what must have been his favorite chair and collapsing in an exhausted heap. His thick black hair fell over his eyes and what had been what could be referred to as "supreme confusion" faded into a worn and tired look. With a sigh and nothing more, Gohan collapsed into the binding of his old book, just as Mirai had found him.

"Hm," Mirai had to whisper aloud, shaking his head in wonder. "perhaps I'll have to come back a different day then."

With that he left the dark haired Saiyan to his solitude, the loneliness and darkness as they had been before he came. And closing the door, Mirai could only remark that both must have played a part in what, he figured, was some madness in Gohan. For how could someone choose to bury themself in such poisoness despair and loneliness? The door closed and the room and the man were as though he'd never been there at all.

Blood soaked through the cracks between his knuckles, drenching both arms up to the elbow. The sadistic fire he'd seen so often in his father's eyes now crackled and burned within his own, challenged only by the sick smile that he'd been entirely unable to purge from his face. Ah, this was a delicacy so rarely indulged in and he had to laugh insanely at how much he'd missed its intoxicating effect on his body. Like the violent quakes of an orgasm, feeling the fragile flesh of a victim tear like wrapping paper beneath his hands was in a word, indescribable.

Their screams and pleas were like pure sex to his ears, like the moans and gasps of his own ecstasy. He could close his eyes to it, feeling the break of his fist into the chest cavity of his victim, tasting the spurts of their blood that would pour into his mouth while he laughed deleriously, crushing their pumping heart. He was the tyranical God of ancient times, feared to the point of sheer panic by those that would cross his path. He hunted them from room to room, his keen Saiyan eyesight distinguishing the different shades of their blood as it dripped from every inch of his body, covering him like a sheen of sweat.

God, how long it had been since he'd morphed from mortal man into conscienceless beast? It made blood burn like magma in his veins.

"Please!" A dark haired man screamed, cowering on his knees, soaked to his thighs in his companions' innards. "What did we do?! What did we do?!"

But what were words? What would be the point? And so Trunks merely raised two of his fingers towards the pleading man, allowing his grin to widen as he plunged both into the tear drenched eye sockets. He felt the slippery eyeballs pop beneath his force, pigment and gore embedding themselves beneath his fingernails. And for fun alone, he let his digits continue until he could touch the undeniable filth of what could only be a wet, squishy brain. Cupping the back of the still screaming man, Trunks tore away the face and frontal piece of skull, curious as to what a brain would look like in the palm of his dripping hand.

"Trunks!" A furious and horrified voice cried out over the screams and groans of dying men. "Christ Trunks! What have you DONE?!"

The younger man could only roll his eyes, turning to glare at the offender.

"Why I've planned a picnic Mirai," He growled sarcastically. "What the fuck does it look like I've done?"

"But... why?"

Before he could spit out a witty comeback, the sound of a bullet slid through the air next to Trunks, eyes watering as it sliced deep into his cheek. The shooter stood in horror, wide brown eyes unable to believe that he'd missed. His knees turned to putty beneath him as he began to pray feverishly in his own language.

"You son of a bitch," Trunks hissed between clenched teeth, eyes suddenly ice cold with rage. He stomped over towards the man, blood from his cheek mingling with dry, cracked fluid that coated his neck. In the back of his mind he could hear Mirai screaming in panic, pleading as they had for his mercy; for his sanity. He even felt the steel, hard fingers of his other version grabbing for his shoulder, useless words of reason bouncing off unhearing ears. The terrible smile and cruel laughter were forgotten and replaced by teeth clenched so hard that any moment they could burst into dust upon his tongue. Every inch or fiber of his being that had at one time resembled human was burnt to cinders and he craved blood with the thirst of a legendary vampire.

Grabbing the arms of the sobbing man, Trunks placed his foot upon the quivering chest, kicking off so hard that the sockets released the appendages with a splash of crimson, veins and flesh still dangling as the armless body was heaved through a wall.

Ah, there was the smile and laughter again.

Trunks cooly tossed the arms across the room, letting them complete a pile of loose appendages that he'd been collecting since his massacre had begun. Mirai was breathing so hard Trunks thought for an instant that he might very well faint from it; a ghostly pale beauty amongst the wretched filth of this abhorrent ghetto.

"Why?" Was all Mirai could breathe between panted breaths. "Why Trunks? Why?"

"Why not?" Trunks asked, geniunely confused by the other's behavior. "These men deserved it Mirai. You must know that."

The other simply stared at him in disbelief. Trunks growled in frustration, angered that his justifiable actions were being so distorted.

"They killed her!" He screamed, pointing to the multiple bodies that lay scattered like so much garbage. "They killed that girl and left the remains a fucking shell! Fucking NOTHING! And you're going to ask me why I did it? Shouldn't I be asking why YOU haven't sooner? They deserved to die!"

"Like this?!" Mirai cried out, shaking in his horror. "Slaughtered like farm animals?!"

"They deserved WORSE," Trunks screamed, a moment later visibly trying to calm himself. "Susan will spend the rest of her life remembering what they did to her and dying every day as a result. Them? They got off easy and they had it coming."

"They had it coming from you?" Mirai cocked his head to the side, anger replacing all astonishment on his features. "You who are NO better than any one of them?!" He pointed towards the corpses, voice cracking as he screamed over the groans and sobs. Trunks merely stared in rage, shaking from it. "You have more victims than any one of these poor bastards. Sure, maybe people don't display their pain on the outside or physical wounds when you've tired of them. But how many Trunks? How many of those master pieces do you think slit their beautiful skin in a bathtub when you'd cast them to the side like trash? Hm? Like NOTHING?!"

Trunks looked away, chest heaving.

"Or have you never thought of that?" Mirai continued, voice shaking. "Is it an easier pill to swallow when you don't have blood on your hands? Is it easier to sleep at night without the corpses at the foot of your bed? b Is it?! /b "

His voice boomed, actually making Trunks jump for an instant, refusing to let any emotion register either inside himself or out.

"And I don't know why I even try Trunks," Mirai whispered, lips quivering. "Why... when you are DEAD inside?!"

His beautiful lips suddenly formed a sob, Trunks barely able to believe his own eyes. He remained quiet watching as sadness passed over Mirai like waves in a shallow pool, the only sound a broken, sorrowful sigh.

"Your heart," he whispered. "Is cold."

Trunks sat quietly, so absolved in his own thoughts that the world around seemed to revolve without him, leaving him behind with enough questions to last him an eternity. He couldn't understand it. He just couldn't. Men who raped a 16 year old deserved to die, deserved to suffer, deserved to feel the pain they inflicted. Certainly he had taken out far more than 6, but who amongst them was innocent?

He shook his head, seeing her pale blue eyes in his mind, seeing the shallow shell that had once been animated with life and hope. Seeing a 16 year old girl that had the eyes of an 80 year old war victim. And yet still he couldn't bring himself to accept the reason as to why he saw her. Did he actually care? Was that why he sought such justice? Because he needed that revenge to fill the shell that had become himself?

He didn't know why the world was so bent on feeling and caring and all that bullshit. Wasn't it easier before? When he wouldn't find himself consumed and eaten away at by a complete stranger; finding himself sitting around and thinking only of her? Wasn't it easier to watch the world destroy itself and be numb to the results? Wasn't the life of sex and drugs and cruelty so much smoother and kinder?

Vegeta had walked into the room, staring strangely at Trunks when the usually predatory youth would have made some quick sexual remark and had failed to do so. Trunks still remained oblivious to the prince, glancing up in surprise when his father sat across from him.

"You're hurt," Vegeta said blandly, nodding towards the deep cut that was the direct result of a bullet grazing Trunks' cheek. The younger Saiyan only nodded, eyes returning to their space on the countertop.

"It's nothing," He said quietly. His father could only scowl in disappointment, grabbing both sides of his face with surprising gentleness and analyzing the wound. Dark eyes swept over the cut, a soft thumb slightly examining the damage.

"It's deep," Vegeta acknowledged, softly patting Trunks' cheek. "but I think you'll live."

A rare smile crossed the tantalyzing lips and it suddenly dawned on Trunks that this was probably the closest his father had been by choice for a long time. And what struck him as even more disturbing was that even with this realization, he felt no immediate temptation to take advantage of that fact. Truly, life was easier the other way.

Vegeta sighed slightly, letting his face rest on his hand as he gazed at his son.

"You're not yourself today," He breathed. "What has you so upset Trunks?"

The better version of himself would have come up with some sexually harrassing remark or even some off-the-wall insult, Trunks had to think sorely. Yet now he simply sat in contemplation, wondering idly why his father even cared.

"What are you thinking about?" Vegeta implored, seeming to sincerely give a damn. It was a rare thing to be sure.

"Revenge." Trunks said plainly, thinking that there was simply nothing else that could sum it up so well. "Revenge... I just don't..."

He shook his head in frustration, laying his chin upon his hand. Vegeta cocked his head to the side, probably completely unaware at just how irritably tempting he could look just about any which way he moved.

"You don't understand it?" The prince asked.

Trunks growled in frustration. "I just don't get the point of it. Is it right? Is it wrong? And even if it feels right to you, it's undoubtedly wrong to someone else. Is it wise or is it foolis-"

"Trunks," Vegeta almost laughed, cutting him off. "I don't understand why you care so much regardless. Isn't it always you that says "fuck em' all"? Aren't you the one that simply preaches that Saiyans shouldn't adopt human ideals of thinking? Or let such effect them in any way? Why would you care?"

The son could only sigh, angered slightly that his father could use his own words against him. Or maybe, angered more that his old beliefs struck him as something of a contradiction to the ones he'd been pondering lately.

Seeing that his response had had a distancing effect on his son, Vegeta rolled his eyes, sitting back into his chair. 

"I may know a thing or two about revenge," he began. "Or maybe I still don't. In my younger days, I believe I indulged in it often enough, though I never really saw the point myself. Revenge was a handy justification for violence. It wasn't something holy or emotional so much as..." He paused thinking. "so much as a scap-goat. Or better yet, it was a reason or excuse for me to make people look as ugly on the outside as I felt on the inside."

Trunks looked up at this, swallowing hard.

"I don't even know why it felt good to have reasons or why I even felt I needed them in such a morally lacking time in my life. Maybe it was my excuse to be a monster and pass it off as being a saint. Hiding my devil behind a holy mask." He shrugged. "It seldom served any purpose other than that. I never felt better as a result and you can take revenge on anything. Someone killing your family to someone stepping on your toe by accident. I guess there could be good reasons and there are more often times bad. But mine? I don't really consider any of them justifiable."

A sad face suddenly passed over Trunks' features, taking Vegeta by surprise. The vulnerability he'd seen for only just a second had a bruising effect, never having seen such a thing on his son. Where arrogance and sexual promiscuity had once reigned, now a thoughtful, troubled person sat replacing them. It was suddenly very overwhelming.

"Then I think..." the younger Saiyan whispered. "I think I did something wrong."

Another revelation that nearly caused the prince to spring to his feet. For 25 years, he couldn't remember EVER having heard those words spoken by Trunks before, despite the offense.

"I don't know why I did it," his son continued.

"Did what Trunks?" He implored, pushing more than he figured he ought to. "What did you do?"

"I punished them," Trunks breathed, looking up, his face covered with guilt, seeming so youthful suddenly. "And I..."

The young man looked down, seeming almost shameful. Vegeta had to check himself over, blinking his eyes to adjust to what he was seeing. It was almost like a transformation right before him, the face usually so stoic and calm twisted with an actual look of care. Like seeing the same beautiful face... only on someone else.

"I think I did it to make me feel better here," Trunks placed two fingers over his heart. "to make that pain go away. To... pass it off. But it didn't and Mirai..."

He trailed off, staring at his father's suddenly pale face.

"Mirai what?" Vegeta asked. "What about Mirai?"

Trunks shook his head violently, struggling to get his sorts about him. He ignored his father's imploring, the dark, hungry eyes all but invisible for a moment. Had he really said that? Was that really how he felt? Pain that he so desperately tried to beat away against the faces of monsters? Had he done it for the same reasons that his father had? To savagely destroy and dessimate in an attempt to rebuild what felt suddenly broken?

The heart, he thought, could seem so much like a deep ocean at times. Occasionally you got a wave of certainty, of pure acknowledgment of what you were feeling. But most times, it felt like dipping into an endless abyss of feelings, a bottomless well of pain, of doubt, of happiness and of sadness. 

And why, he asked himself. Why did he delve into a place that ought not to be tampered with? Why look for feelings and emotions when they'd only cause you harm? What WAS the point of guilt? Was life not better when there were no apologies, no regrets? The fuckers deserved to die, deserved to suffer. And it was done. No guilt or shame would bring them back and God so help him, if he gave two shits about either one and had the power to erase it, he STILL wouldn't.

So why then, was he sitting here trying to give a shit? Why?

"Fuck it," He laughed, flashing his most arrogant smirk. "Nothing. Nothing at all daddy."

Grabbing the back of Vegeta's neck, Trunks pulled him into a crushing kiss, snaking his tongue just slightly across the opening of his father's mouth. He loved how tense the muscles became instantaneously, his father pulling back in disgust and even the smallest traces of desire. It never ceased to amaze him that Vegeta's sense of morality far exceeded any of the Saiyans. His self control was limitless it seemed, a fact that continuously grated on Trunks. The prince meanwhile stuttered an amount of curses, visably trying to keep his temper in check. Trunks merely shrugged, pushing back his chair and standing.

Standing as his old self again, untainted by a ridiculous sense of feelings.

"Your heart is cold."... The words suddenly echoed in his mind, as though Mirai had spoken them right next to where he stood. And he smiled against them, replying quietly that there was simply no greater feeling in the world then no feeling at all.

"We simply MUST have these little chats more often Vegeta," He taunted, grinning wildly as he stood in the door frame. "nothing like a little father/son time is there?"

And with that he left the room, his father's face still pale with confusion.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N EXTREME gore and very disturbing content in this chapter. Please be warned. Also, in later portions, it is HIGHLY HIGHLY recommended that you download and listen to Muse's "Sing for Absolution" as I think it applies very well in this chapter. Other than that, enjoy!**

The preacher went on and on, one word more tediously enunciated then the last, sweat beads forming on the ugly bald brow. Trunks wanted to sleep, his mother's crude elbow against his ribs the only hindrance in that regard. They sat in a dusty old church, courtesy of his mother's feverish pleas and Trunks' lack of energy to deny them. The scent of mildew and mold made his nose itch and he longed to clog it up with whatever powdered drug his alter boy dealer had slipped him on the way in. On and on and on and on the elderly preacher went, condemning just about every aspect of Trunks' life that he adored, from sex and fornication to adultery and drugs and (gasp) what a surprise, homosexuality.

"These must be exempt from your life," he would prattle on.

'Yeah,' Trunks thought to himself dryly.' and just how is that life without them?'

"If the evil continue their wicked deeds," the bald preacher cried out, pounding his bible with mockable enthusiasm. "They will be damned to HELL!"

"Funny," Trunks rubbed his temple in annoyance. "and here I thought we were already there."

"Trunks!" Bulma hissed through her teeth. "be quiet!"

He rolled his eyes, sinking lower into the uncomfortable bench. This sucked, he decided, staring down at his fingernails and giving himself a half assed manicure. Pathetic humans scaring themselves into living their lives honorably, too fucking stupid to realize they weren't living them at all. Well, better to live it pointlessly then to pass up the chance completely. Live life until death and regret the things you did do rather than those you were too afraid to, he figured.

Religion was simply an irritancy in Trunks existence. Pointless and pathetic to say the least. What was religion but power and a means to control those afraid of it? And how ironic that X number of dollars could save you from the grips of hell if only put into the donation box, despite what throats you cut to acquire it. As he saw it, you deal with what comes your way; in this life. If in the next you burn in hell, well then, figure out a way to end each day on the side of the devil, rather than in his path. Simple really.

Mirai's face suddenly popped right beside him and Trunks nearly flew through the back of the bench, jumping in his startlement.

"GOD DAMN!" He shouted.

The church was silent, everyone staring in horror at the handsome young bastard that dared to take the lord's name in vain, in a place of God no less. Trunks looked around in slight embarrassment.

"Ahem.." He cleared his throat, ignoring his mother's glare. "I meant... God damn the evil to... hell. Yeah."

He looked up at the preacher, proud of his cover.

"Preach on." He added with a grin.

Sitting down, he had to chuckle slightly, rolling his eyes and leaning back.

"Good job wonder boy," He whispered to the side. "Next time try a funeral, I don't think my mother's had a hernia yet."

Mirai looked as disapproving as ever and Trunks decided that was the precise face the other would probably wear around him until the day he died. A pretty face but nonetheless, constantly disapproving.

"What are YOU doing HERE?" Mirai had to ask, eyeing Bulma wearily.

"Dying of absolute boredom, you?" Trunks smiled smartly. Mirai replied nothing, staring up at the preacher who seemed unimpressed with his audience, going on half heartedly in his sermon.

"Say," He heard Trunks whisper. "You wanna go jerk off in the bathroom? That's how I used to spend my mornings here."

Mirai refused to chuckle at that, Trunks grin falling slightly as a result.

"Well," he continued. "At least when I wasn't fucking the preacher's pretty son in the second stall. What do you say?"

"Meet me here," Mirai interrupted, handing a tiny slip of paper to the other. "Tonight at 11:00 ok?"

"Trunks," Bulma spat angrily. "Be quiet!"

"Oh isn't that cute," Trunks rolled his eyes begrudgingly. "We both sit here chatting and I'm the one she yells at. Fucking figures."

Shrugging off vines that clung to his designer leather jacket, Trunks growled in frustration as he spotted Mirai, hovering a few stories up beside a window. The rain poured into his eyes, the sky above entirely black; only interrupted occasionally by sharp spits of electricity that cracked with thunder only a few moments after. He held his arms around his chest, cold as the wind spit mist against the side of his neck, chilling him to the bone.

It was an eerie night, and as he had parked his gorgeous car down the street from this normal, suburbia home, he had felt a very real sense of something unnatural, or something cruel in the air. The feeling someone might get if they were to walk in a deserted cemetery or through decrepit old concentration camps overseas. Evil; old evil. The scent in the air was indiscernible through the rain and wind, yet he had the chilling feeling as though he were walking down the stairs to an old dungeon, ripe with still rotting corpses and abandoned bodies tied to walls. A foreboding of something you really don't want to see.

Trunks moved a large, leafy branch out of his view, realizing that he was suddenly in an old garden, stone gargoyles fallen and broken on the ground. Moss and weeds had grown over what must have been beautiful statues at one point and he had the distinct sensation that something very beautiful was ruined here. Like something young had once thrived in this garden and now lay in shards and tatters, overgrown with filth and waste.

Lightening cracked over rocks that had once lined a waterfall and a small, man-made pond. Trunks shivered as the following thunder shook the ground and his eyes caught sight of what might have been old, dried blood stretched over the side of one of the rocks. Blood that could have been there for months and would not have been spotted by the human eye. In fact, as he looked around, it seemed to be nearly everywhere. Tiny tracks of blood tossed here and there. It had been scattered over the sides of the house, over lawn ornaments and tipped over deck chairs. And for the small amount, it seemed like a violent shedding of blood, purposeful and meaningful to whoever had done it.

Confused he glanced up at Mirai who moved down to stand beside him, following the younger's eyes and nodding.

"Blood," he confirmed.

Trunks just stared at him, completely baffled that Mirai would ask him here, to this garden drenched in blood and misery. Whatever he felt here, it wasn't normal. Almost like there was a lingering sickness, a dreary, scary feeling of something very cruel and twisted winding itself through the air about them.

"It belongs to a boy who lives here," Mirai distracted him, Trunks swallowing and clenching his coat closer to his throat.

"You mean whoever did this is still alive," He called over the wind and rain.

"Yes," Mirai nodded, glancing up towards the high window. "If you were to go inside that house, you'd see the walls and floors and ceilings the same as out here. Covered in his blood. His name is David and he does it to himself."

Trunks' face fell and he squinted his eyes in confusion, blinking out the water that had fallen into them.

"But... why?" He asked.

"Because," Mirai looked up once more. "She can't do it for him anymore."

Saying that, Mirai walked towards a small window on the first floor, gesturing for Trunks to follow as he peeked inside. Sure as he had spoken it, tiny tracks of blood had been leaked along the counters and floors of a small, cluttered kitchen, lightening illuminating horrifying pieces of dried skin that had been slapped into place on a table. Knives and jagged pieces of metal tangled with hair and flesh laid out on the tabletop of what once had been a place for eating and now had been converted into a means for self torture.

Trunks' feet fell backwards as he caught sight of a coat hanger, bent and distorted beside the window. A large junk of human flesh, fresh and bleeding, dangled and dripped very close to their faces.

"Jesus Christ!" He screamed out, staring in horror at Mirai. "What the fuck is this?"

"This was once a beautiful home," Mirai spoke quietly, ignoring Trunks and staring inside. "There had been a father and mother and a young boy named David. One day, as David took a bath (only 4 years of age) his mother, had slipped on the wet, toy covered floor, cracking her head against the porcelain tub and bleeding out right into his bathwater. No one had found them until 6 hours later when his father came home from work, finding them as they had been hours before, David staring in horror at his mother's bleeding eyes that stared directly back into his.

"Physically, they found nothing wrong with the boy, only noting that mentally, he might later on need some counseling on the matter. And then, as sure as his mother's life had ended, it was seemingly forgotten and she was replaced by his step mother, the woman that now sleeps above in that room."

Trunks looked upwards, wanting nothing more than to leave and be back in his safe home, away from this... this horror story.

"His step mother, Dorthy. Dorthy had grown up in a strict, Catholic home, an overly protected monster with no reason for her cruel, begrudging view of the world. Yet it seemed, she took her every frustration out on her step son, beating his small body in hidden places at first and only when her husband would be out for a few days. She would take small rocks from the garden here, at first just throwing them at David and later, becoming quite infatuated with the idea that she could make her amends with the world through tormenting him, pounding the stones against his young flesh.

"At first the bruises could sate her, until her inherit cruelty demanded more and she would tie him to chairs and make small cuts across his tender little arms. It wasn't long before cuts turned to gashes and she would dangle junks of his skin in front of his crying eyes, throwing them against his face when she had finished and leaving him there. His father, always away on business, never noticed, never believed, even when he died leaving the child entirely in her care.

"This house," Mirai looked around. "Became the grave of an innocent, beautiful little boy and the birthing place of a horrific monster that Dorthy created. For you see, this story isn't about her and what she did so much as him and what he became.

"Locked away in the basement for weeks at a time and given no human contact, the mind will very surely go insane and starve for any means of attention. In the life of a tortured, isolated creature, even the cruelest touches are touches nonetheless. A dog will plead for attention and even if a mean kick is its only answer, surely enough, it will come back for it again."

"What are you saying?" Trunks asked. "That he learned to like it?"

"No," Mirai shook his head. "That he came to love it. Unable to remember any alternate kindnesses, in the already deranged mind of David, Dorthy's attention was the equivalent of any attention a mother would show a son. She gave him love through her kicks and kisses through her stabs. He learned to beg for her torment, though never showing it as such. He would pretend to break things "on accident" or to bleed "on accident" on her new dresses. He would pretend to be clumsy and tip milk on the floor. Anything that would cause the attention that he thought was her love.

"And when he reached the age of fantasies and wet dreams, they involved only her and her beautiful instruments of cruelty. He yearned for it."

"That's sick," Trunks spat. "I want to leave this place. It gives me the creeps."

"But I thought you loved creating monstrosities Trunks," Mirai replied sharply. "I thought you loved violence. You enacted cruelties that even Dorthy would have been proud of yet you say THIS sickens you? Follow me."

Against his will, Trunks followed Mirai upwards, swallowing down bile that had risen in his throat as they came to Dorthy's window, high above the ground. They watched through the raindrops that fell like tears over the foggy window, the image of the woman fast asleep in her bed, diluted by the water. Her hair was grey and lifeless around her aged face, her hard mouth set in a cold, thin line. The blankets were wrapped around her small form, tucked in at her feet. And it wasn't until his eyes had rested on her feet that he literally flew backwards, catching the outline of a body slouched and hidden in the shadows by her door frame.

"What the fuck..." He whispered, moving closer and trying to discern what it was. "It's him, isn't it?" He breathed.

Mirai didn't answer, staying quiet when the frame of a young man, slightly younger than Trunks came into view, moving silently into the room, oblivious to their stares. It was impossible to make out a face, as the lightening only shown what was an inhumane, corpse like thing with only blood and gore serving for one. All flesh had been either torn away or twisted, a horrifying crack serving as a grinning mouth. The eyes, one void of any lids were icy blue, covered slightly by thin, crimson drenched pieces of hair that spouted from the burnt and deformed head. Some pieces were long, curling around the slanted shoulders that slouched as the creature moved what must have been painfully towards the bed, one trip at a time as a foot had been bent backwards and dragged behind the rest of the body.

Trunks wanted to vomit as pus and yellow filth ran from the gouges that served as a nose that had long been torn from the face, the entire body itself like that of a severe burn victim. He couldn't even figure how something so distorted could endure life in such pain. But hadn't David gotten used to it by now? Didn't in some sick part of himself, he enjoy it?

The feet only dragged closer, the shadow of the creature crept like a thousand maggots on the wall, moving towards her resting body. Sinister eyes, clouded by a gleaming obsession came into full view, the light glittering over tears and what could be called, a grinning mouth.

"You never knew you loved me.." It whispered in a beautiful, clear young voice that startled Trunks. "but you will."

"It was her cruelties that kept him her slave," Mirai whispered, silent enough that the thing never even noticed them. "He would beg for them. Breaking vases, spilling on carpets; his supposed clumsiness was his plead for her attention, his cry for the greatest kindness that only her belt over a bare back could provide. And through his tears of pain, he poured the blood of his love on the carpet, only wishing that the crimson could speak the poetry his lips could not."

Mirai shook his head.

"His obsession smothered him, years of falling in love with that which only he could justify. The beauty behind such pain and pleasure such as no one could have given him. Their dirty secret. Sexual abuse; his only real love affair and a one-sided one at that."

Shaky, hesitant fingers, void of any nail moved to the gray strands of her hair, rubbing tiny specks of dried fluid over them.

"As he strokes her hair," Mirai breathed. "he longs to brush it with the comb that once implanted itself into his skull, courtesy of his most beloved clumsiness once more. Blood pouring from his eyes and ears was poetry, his ode to that which he could love more than any other human could love another. He fell for the monster that became his world, his goddess behind the screams.

"Shadows call to mind memories spent in the confines of a basement for a week, carving her name with his shattered fingernails into the cement, begging and pleading with his very soul that her foot or hand or any object commanded by such might strike his unworthy flesh once more and bring forth the pain that only such longing could give. He would beat his sores and wounds against sharp rocks or tear at them with shards of glass to relive the beautiful agony only she could inflict with such detached perfection. Seeing her beautiful face distorted with fury only made it more flawless to him, longing to lick his own blood from the cracks and crevices of her aging skin, or drink the droplets that fell from her jagged knuckles as she pushed and pulled them from his body. His drug was the sound of her feet cracking the fragile bones, knit only together for the purpose of supplying what he needed more desperately than any heroin addict."

Trunks just shook his head, horrified by this. By all of this. He stared at this ... this monstrosity that leaned over its step mother, unable to see her for the fucking cruel tyrant that she was and instead, eyes teary with idolism.

"I only dream of you," it whispered.. "my beautiful."

Its skinny fingers, yellowed by starvation crawled like insects around her sagging throat, feeling the thin skin warm to its touch. Kissing the frail flesh that soaked into its mouth and whispering promises that they would be together forever. Lovers of their own masochistic game.

"Only," Mirai breathed so quietly, Trunks strained to hear. "Dorthy is too old now, too frail to give him what he wants. There's the lesson. The love she showed ended."

Trunks eyes widened as the leathery fingers collapsed like pieces of steel around the woman's wind pipe, beginning to choke the life from her. Horrible green eyes stretched themselves open, staring in terror at her attacker. Her fragile fingers clenched around his wrist, fighting to no avail as he took the breath from her lungs.

"Aren't you going to stop him?" Trunks asked, confused that Mirai had made no move to.

"No," Mirai replied, suddenly looking as cold as Trunks. "There are some things not even I should change in the past."

Trunks stared quietly at the older version before directing his attention towards the murderer, the cold blue eyes spilling tears over the smiling crack that was its mouth.

"Besides," he heard Mirai whisper. "This is what we're here to see."

Dorthy struggled against the fleshless arms of her step son, fingernails digging into gory, muscled matter. Blood pooled over her knuckles as her fingers gave him their last bit of pleasure, sinking in until they touched the thin bones of his arms. Her terrible green eyes never left his, staring at the creation of so much torment. Times when she had refused to feed him came to her mind, laying awake in this very bed and listening to his screams for food; listening as he had torn chunks of his own flesh off and lay in the darkness gnawing them. Times when she had hung him in the shack behind the house, piercing his flesh through his back with thick wires and hanging his tiny body by nails connected to the ceiling; watching his little feet kick the air relentlessly, pleading that she take him down. Times when she had lit the healing skin of his back and neck on fire, tying his arms down so that he could only endure the pain rather than stop it.

And now, the result was strangling her in this very bed, the bed it had longed to sleep in since the years of puberty when the bones she'd cracked and refused to mend grew into distorted limbs that only dreamt of holding her. Their last intimate act. She blacked out as his tears fell onto her face, her wretched, piercing green eyes seeing nothing as she died.

Trunks wanted to scream, moving away from the window and refusing to look anymore.

"Why?" He demanded, feeling like he couldn't even breathe. Mirai moved towards him, leading them slightly away from the house. "Why would you show me that shit? How is that love? What are you trying to PROVE Mirai?!"

"How is that not love?" Mirai shrugged, trying to pretend he was unaffected by what they'd both witnessed. "I told you I would prove that love exists Trunks. I didn't say that it was always a beautiful or a pure thing. Love is loss. Love is sadness and it's breaking down. But more than those, love can be a sick obsession. It can be unhealthy and cruel and in this case, fucking monstrous. But that doesn't mean it isn't love and it certainly doesn't mean it can't exist. Tell David that he didn't love her. Tell him that it was just chemicals mixed in his twisted mind. Or could you even believe the words yourself after seeing all he would do for her, all he went through for her most sadistic attentions?

"He loves her even now as he throws gasoline around the house that was his torture chamber. He loves her with every breath in his disfigured body as he lights a match and puts to rest the never ending pain that was his existence."

The window suddenly became light and within, Trunks could make out the burning form of the creature named David, standing still by his dead lover as they were both consumed by fire.

"Tell me that isn't love Trunks." Mirai said before he disappeared into the sky, flying away and leaving the other to watch the house gradually catch completely.

Trunks stayed, watching the flames eat away at the roof before eventually collapsing the entire house. Flames that could consume such evil and leave behind no traces of the abominations that were once conducted behind the walls that now lay in ruins. And flames that could never tell the stories of a little boy named David or speak of the love between the creature and his step mother, Dorthy.

As he flew away, he still thought he could hear their screams.


	18. Chapter 18

"Why... why the FUCK Mirai?!" Trunks screamed, catching up to the other as he walked quietly through a suburban neighborhood on the other side of town from the horrors they had witnessed. "Why? I mean, what the fuck are you trying to prove? You're showing me rape victims and freakin' psychos and what am I supposed to learn from that, huh?!"

He growled deep in his throat, clearing it and glad that he'd finally gotten a reaction from Mirai who glared into his eyes almost hatefully.

"You're trying to show me how WONDERFUL love is by showing me THAT shit?" He snapped.

"WRONG!" Mirai surprised him, pushing him violently to the ground and standing over him. "That's where you're missing the point Trunks. I'm not showing you the wonderful world of love... I'm simply showing you that it exists! People hear the word love and what do they see? Young, happy, enthusiastic couples finding themselves in the arms of one another. They think love is sex and marriage and kids and roses and fucking daisies. But THAT... THAT is NOT love. Or rather, that's not the dramatic proof you're going to need in order to believe it exists. You say it's chemicals in your brain, a physical thing. That's where I'm going to show you you're wrong."

Mirai looked away, visibly trying to check his temper.

"When I showed you what had been done to Susan, what did you look for?" He asked. "Did you think about the pain inflicted on her yet focus on the good that came out of it? Did you think about the love I was trying to stress that she found later on and the sacrifices she made for it? No. No you looked for the revenge, the quick fix Trunks. That's not what I wanted you to see, that's not what I wanted you to do. You think I would come back from the future just to set things straight, to right old wrongs and seek revenge for strangers that moved me to compassion? No. Yet you did what David did, you became the same pitiable, pathetic creature that he did, seeking revenge yet being consumed in the same flames you caused. Revenge is empty Trunks. I never wanted to show you that."

"Then why did you show me David?" Trunks asked, staring up at Mirai from his place on the ground. Funny that he made no movements to get up, yet felt suddenly that beneath the other was where he belonged. Was that shame? He shook his head of the idea and simply stared at the other.

"Because you're just like David." Mirai spat cruelly.

"What?!" Trunks hollered, finally finding his footing and glaring the other in the eye. "And just prey tell HOW did you come to that conclusion?"

"Simple really," Mirai answered in a cold voice. "When I showed you Susan, the only thing you got out of it was the idea of revenge. But with David, there WAS no reconciling what he'd endured. Even in her death, Dorthy was shown a kindness that David had NEVER known. So when there was no revenge, what did you see? When there wasn't that quick fix at your disposal, did you see his life, did you see the purpose of it? Look..." Mirai's eyes softened slightly and he gently raised his hand to cup Trunks' shoulder. "You don't sympathize and you can't understand Susan's pain. You will never love or understand HER love the way that she can. I needed to show you a dramatic piece of proof that you could relate to."

"What are you getting at?"

"You were obsessed, Trunks." Mirai answered. "You were obsessed, almost as obsessed and in love with Goten as David was with his step mother."

"What?!" The other snapped, backing away. Trunks' reaction was as though he had been brutally punched across the face, his color paling and his eyes blazing with anger. "How are you going to say that? You don't know anything Mirai. You know NOTHING. What me and Goten went through, that wasn't love.. that was..."

"Fuck..what..YOU think you know about love," Mirai said each word slowly, adding emphasis to every syllable. "You don't FUCK someone's brother and someone's father as a result of not giving a shit about them. You don't make it your life's goal to ensure that they are FULLY aware that you are having sex every moment that you are. You don't deliberately hurt a person for four fucking years because "it wasn't love". Grow up for God's sake! You're too fucking PISS IN YOUR PANTS afraid to feel anything because you realize that hey, maybe you aren't above us all. Maybe you're just as vulnerable to giving a shit as any one of us.

"You don't see yourself in David but in my eyes? You are JUST as pitiable, as sad and as pathetic as he was. You watched him kill her, you watched as he slowly choked the life out of the one person he ever loved and yet, you have NEVER seen the impact that you had on Goten was just as cruel and just as brutal. You're a bigger monster than him Trunks, because you weren't abused like he was; you weren't isolated so dramatically that you believed the person that hurt you the most was the one person in the world that could love you. And what's the worst thing about you Trunks, is that while David killed his one victim, instead, you have had countless numbers of them. At least David mourned his mother, you? You don't feel anything when you break them."

Trunks' face was drenched with anger, his mouth distorted with it.

"You know what I feel right now Mirai?" He breathed, walking right up to the other's face. "BORED."

With that he turned, walking fast, his expensive shoes clacking against the concrete ground.

"Where are you going Trunks?" Mirai called after, following behind.

"You know what I miss?" Trunks called out, looking upwards with a grin and completely ignoring the other. "The days when I could just go through my hours, fuck what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted to and NEVER have to listen to your pathetic little lectures about it. So why don't you take your sick little sob stories to someone who gives a shit about them and stop trying to see things in me that AREN'T there. You can show me sick shit, pretty shit, any kind of shit you want to, but you keep thinking my reactions going to be different and being disappointed when its not."

He turned on his heel, the other stopping to gaze at him.

"When will you see it Mirai," Trunks asked, moving up to the other and seductively touching the side of Mirai's face with his finger tips. "I won't change. I don't have any incentive nor any desire to. The others have given up; have stopped trying to see things that aren't there. Why not you? Why do you persist in this useless voyage my mother sent you on?"

He moved closer to the other still, the cold air making his nose icy as he rubbed it against Mirai's warm cheek.

"Mirai," he whispered. "You of anyone must understand me. Why do you pretend we're so different, so opposite when it's obvious that above all others, you alone can relate to who I am and why I'm this way. We look the same, we have the same hot blood that courses through our veins," he pulled his arm out for emphasis, yanking up his sleeve and tracing the lines of blue and red beneath the skin. "yet you continue with your facade, trying to expose ME when you're the one that persists in hiding behind a mask. Don't you get it? If I'm like David, than so are you."

Mirai tried to move away, showing his disgust for this accusation.

"Ah ah ah," Trunks grinned, cupping the back of the other's neck and pulling him in close. "We're one in the same though, aren't we? So here's my question... What's YOUR obsession Mirai?"

With that he turned away, the warmth of his body leaving Mirai to ponder the question, to dwell on the things he had said.

"Where are you going," Mirai asked quietly, dazed by what he had been told. His eyes remained glued to the ground, his head going in a thousand different directions.

"Me?" Trunks laughed, walking away with his hands in his pockets. "I'm going to do the same thing I did before you came into my life. I'm going to attempt to fuck my father and then I'm going to sleep."

* * *

Trunks had watched Vegeta for a few moments, his heart beating in his ears. What Mirai had said cut deeper than he'd felt in years, his own anger surprising him. It was seldom that anything anyone would say could get much of a rise out of him... well, at least, THAT sort of rise. People couldn't often surprise him, couldn't often be as unpredictable as Mirai had been. Here he had thought he was on some damned quest to see pretty little examples of people supposedly 'in love' yet Mirai had shattered any predisposed ideas of that nature. And he had to admit that Mirai was right. When he heard the word "love" he thought of sex justified through pathetic reasoning and he thought of all those silly movies bent on making housewives drool.

But he didn't think of sick, incestuous obsession. He didn't think of darkness and cruelty. Yet that's what he had been shown and here he was, dwelling on it all.

Vegeta sat outside in the garden, resting peacefully against the stone of a wall as he gazed up at the stars, oblivious to his son. The rain had brought out the most beautiful colors in the flowers, the grass and vines a healthy green. Vegeta though, was a contrast to everything, his black turtleneck making his skin show more pale in the moonlight, his eyes fierce as he gazed upwards. Trunks marveled silently at the beautiful contours of his father's face, the ageless, timeless skin that made the man look as though he were the same age as his son. It always struck Trunks as hilarious that they could go to bars or restaurants and Vegeta would get ID carded same as him. More entertaining in fact was when people even younger than his father would talk down to the man, thinking that his age was inferior to theirs and that he could (imagine) learn from them.

But it was impossible to really know the things that Vegeta had learned in all of his time. Maybe that was the most mysterious and intriguing part of the man. That he'd visited worlds that one couldn't even fathom, seen horrors and beauties that the world could never even grasp yet his youthful look was forever untainted by it. Almost like a vampire, generations old yet walking through the world with ageless beauty. It was a curse and gift for Vegeta. He would always be young and he would always be as gorgeous as a painting. Yet, he would also watch as his wife aged, sick and unable to even give him the least amount of sexual gratification that she once had. He would watch her skin crinkle with time, his youthful face staring over her even as her mirror reflected back a dying old woman. And he would have to watch her die, the world seeing what would appear to be a twenty-five year old gold digger mourning a lonely, naive old fool.

Trunks slowly opened the sliding, glass door, his father's eyes darting over towards him and his body tensing.

"Where have you been?" He asked nonchalantly, not even pretending that he honestly cared one way or the other.

"Out." Trunks answered, moving to sit beside his father who leaned away intentionally, putting distance between them. "What are you looking at?"

"Up." Vegeta said, grinning a bit. Trunks had to roll his eyes, pulling his knees to his chest and staring upwards. They sat for a few moments, each in their silence, contemplating things neither would ever know about the other.

Vegeta finally pointed upwards, getting Trunks' attention.

"Do you see that larger star?" he asked, pointing towards it. "And that one? And that one?" His finger darted to different positions in the sky, some much farther away than others. Trunks merely nodded, keeping silent. "Those are planets I once visited. Some are more violent and horrible than anything you could even imagine, with warriors and fighters that, at the time, made me seem like a toddler competing in the earth tournaments. Others have great big monsters and dinosaurs and beasts that are miles long and vicious beyond reason."

Trunks nodded once more, listening to the throaty, accented voice of his father.

"Kakarot and I," he spoke suddenly in a lower voice, "once promised we'd go to each one." he put on a soft grin, looking over at Trunks. "A means of testing our strength once we tired of beating the hell out of one another. A stupid dream," He shrugged. "But I wonder now and then if that's what he's doing. If he went without me."

Trunks watched his father's facial features closely, watching as the eyes and mouth registered none of the pain that he figured must have been there.

"Does it bother you that he left?" He asked, moving slightly closer, searching out the heat his father's body radiated.

"You know Kakarot," Vegeta once again shrugged. "He was always such a birdbrain, always on his own little selfish quests to find whatever it was he needed to know about himself. I see him now in the stars the same as always, the hero with no discernable flaws. Maybe that's why he left to begin with. He had flaws here, he had ties to you that made him seem human, seem defeatable."

Trunks almost chuckled to himself at how easily his father tried to dart around the knowledge they both possessed on that topic.

"But that's not why he stays gone," Vegeta said quietly, swallowing hard.

Silence passed between them once more, Trunks quietly watching his father's eyes as they scanned the sky. Was he looking for Goku? Was he searching for some proof that Goku still remembered their promise, still remembered him at all?

"You wanted him," Trunks breathed quietly, not asking but simply announcing.

Vegeta just glared at him, rolling his eyes in disdain.

"Wanted to beat him? Yes." he answered.

"No," Trunks insisted. "You wanted to be with him. You wanted to have sex with him, the same way I did."

Vegeta just growled deep in his throat, visibly trying to keep his temper in check. The space around them suddenly seemed smolderingly uncomfortable.

"Only," Trunks grinned cruelly. "I got him. I didn't let these stupid humans make me feel like I didn't deserve what I wanted just because it was socially "taboo". I got what I wanted and if you hadn't spent so much time sitting on your ass and giving two shits what these humans thought, you would have too."

Vegeta suddenly laughed catching his son off guard.

"Like you know shit Trunks," He laughed bitterly. "Like you know shit."

Vegeta finally stood up, gazing down at the other.

"I have NEVER given a shit what these humans thought," He stated, looking suddenly very superior, something that grated on Trunks, forcing him to stand as well. "You always think that I hold myself back because I've let their opinions taint me, jade me, degrade me, however you word it. There's where you miss the point."

He began walking inside, pausing for only a second to look back.

"If I ever really wanted something, nothing, no human, no family ties, no power in the universe could keep me from it." He spoke. "I thought you knew me better than that."

"Than why not me?" Trunks spat back. "I know you want me."

"Pfft," Vegeta snorted rolling his eyes and turning his back. "You flatter yourself."

Trunks suddenly grabbed his father's shoulder, spinning him around almost violently and glaring at him with piercing blue eyes. Vegeta's own eyes lit up with anger, yanking his arm away violently. They both breathed rapidly, sizing the other up.

"You'd better fucking watch it kid," Vegeta snarled, showing some of the old attitude that had sparked Trunks' infatuation from the beginning. Ah but it had been too long since he'd seen the violent, brutal side of his father's personality, the rage and vengeance that had once ruled the prince entirely. It was like a complete transformation, the facial features once so solemn and void of emotions alight with intensity and fire burning behind the cold black eyes. "If it weren't for your mother, trust me, you'd be dead by now."

"Ha," Trunks laughed, moving even closer, challenging his father in doing so. "Or you would have been man enough to fuck me by now. Tell me Vegeta," He smiled sadistically, "Did you have both balls entact before you met her or were you always a pussified fuck?"

Vegeta was suddenly so angry he was shaking, eyes red rimmed with his pressurized attempts to calm himself down. Before he'd even registered basic thought, he'd punched Trunks square across the face, sending the gorgeous face flying sideways, blood splashing on the stone wall. The thick, dark lips were bruised, blood pooling in Trunks' mouth as he smiled back at his father, loving the reaction he could get out of the man.

"Maybe if you had been, oh, I don't know, say a man?" Trunks sneered. "It would have been YOU balls deep in your precious Kakarot, rather than me."

He pushed Vegeta's shoulders harshly, nearly laughing out when the older man went through the same old routine of attempting to calm himself down and failing to do so when Trunks pushed him yet again. Ah, but victory could be so fucking sweet.

"As it was," He laughed almost hysterically. "I fucked that pretty, tight ass for a month straight and never ONCE did he even mention you. Never once did he even think of you."

He pushed Vegeta one last time, staring coldly into the burning eyes of his father.

"But if it helps," He smiled sweetly. "when I was sucking that thick, hot cock of his daddy; swallowing his cum like a martini... I was thinking of you."

He attacked his father's mouth, tasting the salt and saliva that made his body burn with an intensity that could drive a human man to insanity. Vegeta fought backwards, pushing against Trunks shoulders. The powerful tongue slid into his mouth, colliding with his own. And in that instant, in tasting the mouth that had consumed Kakarot, Vegeta gave in.

Trunks felt the moment, felt the very second the hands against his shoulders ceased, once the pulling and pushing stopped and his father's body went limp in his arms. Compliant they way that they had, the way that Gohan and Goku had become when he'd finally consumed them, created them, freed them. His beautiful masterpieces, his morbid works of mordern art, morphed and transformed into whatever broken creatures he'd left them.

He sank into the seconds that passed, remembering each one of his victims, their tear drenched faces and confused pleas. 'Why didn't he love them'? 'What had they done wrong'? 'What could they do'? His artwork, however misunderstood. Yes, his walking wounds, his liquified and animated pieces of what used to be called human; shells, stinking with the dead meat that festered inside a moving corpse.

Yet Vegeta made them all pale in comparison, even Gohan and Goku. The feeling of a soft mouth that had kissed a thousand lips and yet now were attached to his own in an almost cruel clasp; it was in a word, intoxicating. The feeling of smooth, flawless flesh pressed against his own and furious beads of sweat tasted on Vegeta's upper lip... nothing could be described in a human word.

And even as victory could taste as sweet as candy, Vegeta tore his mouth away, eyes etched with bright red veins. All the intimidating fury burned behind his pupils, Trunks suddenly wondering if this was the very last thing so many people in his position had ever seen. Yet he couldn't even force himself to feel fear, knowing that despite Vegeta's temperament, he could hold his own. And even more secretly, indulging in the raw surges of sexual energy his father was simply oozing with; the beautiful life force that he was.

"How.." Vegeta barely managed to spit through his teeth, shaking with his anger. "fucking DARE you."

Moving to speak, Trunks was thrown backwards as Vegeta's mouth was crushed against his own, teeth violently attacking his lips, the prince's tongue wrenching its way across Trunks'. Iron fingers grasped the back of his neck, forcing his face tighter against his father's. It was a brutal, bruising kiss, the only kind worthy of the savage prince. Trunks could taste the copper flavor of blood, both his and the other's, mixing within his mouth and sliding down his throat as he consumed the Saiyan's saliva into his body; the rich, thick taste coating his stomach.

His body felt like it coursed with liquid fire, excitement and arousal slicing their way through every vein in his being. He was positively shaking with it, grinding his teeth when Vegeta's canines pierced their way into the side of his neck, the hard fingers coiled around his throat, choking him. Vicious fingers held tight to his body, bruising his flawless skin without mercy or consideration. He could feel the blood draining down his neck, his father's teeth still clinging to the torn flesh.

Ah but this was reserved only for him; this emotional abondonement, this sexual disregard. The sociopathic numbness with which Vegeta could treat him yet could never bestowed upon his aging wife. Yes, the violent, cruel sex that Vegeta had stowed up since meeting Bulma, the relentless urge that he had bottled away and all but forgotten until this moment when he both punished and blessed his only son.

The moment was paused briefly as Vegeta tore his mouth away once more, dark blood still pouring down his chin, both panting as they stared at one another. Lust and savagery played over Vegeta's features, Trunks thinking only that this was the old Vegeta he was suddenly meeting; the domesticated, caged version all but forgotten. The Prince's eyes were purged of anything that resembled human, his teeth enlarged in a way that seemed animalistic; and Trunks loving that he was the prey.

Vegeta's hand wrenched its way into Trunks' pants, grabbing the stiff appendage painfully and pulling upwards until Trunks eyes were nearly watering. The free hand held the younger man's face angrily, the cold, cruel black eyes never leaving, even when Trunks stared downwards at his father's movements, shaking with pleasure and pain. His breath came in sporatic gasps, his chest rising and falling. Yet Vegeta's eyes never left the beautiful face, never stopped tracing the lines of gorgeous lips that were half parted, twisted with agony and adoration.

Trunks felt his body pushed to the ground, yet felt no pain but that being administered so skillfully on his cock. It was the perfect mixture of torture and blinding pleasure; no surprise that it was coming from the one being more desired than all in the galaxy. No drug, no medicine, no love, no hate could compare or raise such emotion as Vegeta could. He was love and hate all in one; peace and war in one tight, gorgeous being; fire and ice all at once and you burned from both. Precum leaked down the Prince's knuckles, Trunks acknowledging every drip that would soon lead to the most euphoric orgasm of his entire life.

Sensing this inevitable response, Vegeta's hand ceased its cruelties, lacing its way up every contour of the other's body. Trunks let his head fall back, gazing through half lidded eyes as the Prince licked animalistically at the creamy substance that coated his fingers, stare never leaving his son. He closed his eyes, wincing at Vegeta's hard cock pressed painfully into his own, the Saiyan grinding his hips into the other's. Their erections slid over and over against one another, until their panting and hissed moans were all that could register in their heated minds.

"Yes," Trunks groaned, throwing his head back against the grass. "Fuck me."

All movement ceased, the only feeling that of Vegeta's hot breath beating down against his exposed throat. Opening his eyes, he was met with the familiar (and horrible) "old" Vegeta, the feeling and irritating calmness returned to the once wickedly distorted features.

"I could never fuck you Trunks," Vegeta said, staring heartlessly downwards before pushing himself into standing position. He observed the other as though Trunks were but an inferior child, eyes completely void of anything but disdain.

Turning his back, the Prince made his way towards the sliding glass door, pausing only to say one last thing.

"It'd be like fucking a dead body."


	19. Chapter 19

Trunks let his head sink back against the headboard, feeling the breath enter and leave his body. He could hear the swell of his lungs, the air creeping like water through his system, in and out. Each breath sounded more shaky then the last, the syringe dangling, still embedded in the thick flesh of his arm. He stared down at it, deep in one of a million pores, the sweet little prick that could give him the serenity even sex could never dim. Like injecting an orgasm right through his arm that could entice every inch of his body that it trickled into.

He closed his eyes, his dry lips meeting as he swallowed, feeling the liquid euphoria fill him up. Erasing the shame, the embarrassment, the every feeling and gesture he never would have noticed before. Mirai had made him more human than he had felt in at least ten years and it scared him. Yes, it honestly scared him. More than this drug and the poison it could contain, more than any car crash or frailty that living flesh could make him vulnerable to; he felt more akin to his mother now than he even did with his father.

For years he had loved that he was Saiyan - that that was his one greatest excuse, his greatest escape from humanity. That he never had to obey their rules or social taboos because he wasn't one. But humans suffered embarrassment, rejection, shame... and now? So did he. And no, it wasn't entirely from Vegeta. The only shock in that situation was that his father had let it progress to the level that he had. No, the real shame was that he felt anything at all. When had his perfect plan failed him? When had the numbing drugs lost their effect and surrendered him to being as petty as his human side could allow?

When his dealer had asked what poison would he prefer for the evening, he'd only uttered the word 'anything'. And now that 'anything' was as much a part of him as human or saiyan blood was. He wondered silently if perhaps... if he had been born fully human or fully saiyan, if things would have been easier. As it was, he could never be like his mother. He could never gaze at the world around him and feel akin to these weak humans, with all their petty lives and petty ideals. Yet, his father would always remain the perpetual mystery even to him. Even at the closest they could come, his father would and could never make sense to anyone but Kakarot.

So what did that make of him? Never completely a monster, but never a man. Too much of both and yet too little as well.

He had seen it consume Gohan. As he had watched with desire and with some idolacy as the older boy grew, he had seen the masquerade that Gohan constantly endured. The kindness, the courtesy, the infamous brain that flourished behind trusting eyes. The human. But he'd also seen the monster, the cruelty and vast detachment of a Saiyan warrior with a score to settle. There were times when Gohan would train his younger brother and Trunks, times when his temper would stretch just the tiniest amount and the cold, calculating stare would overcome the false innocence that beat in dark, black eyes.

Everything about Gohan had been a lie. That was true enough. Even Gohan's sexual preference was a lie. But Gohan had always made the mistake that he could somehow control everything about himself. Keep his temper in check, never let anyone know just how powerful he could be with it. Trunks had been told that even before he was born, Gohan had refused to reveal all of his power to Cell, worried that he might be unable to control it once it'd been let out. But even Trunks had known, just a child at the time, that it was a lie. Gohan was afraid to be Saiyan at all. And what Trunks and him alone could understand, was that once that power was revealed, Gohan was afraid that he might just like it.

Now, Trunks mused, as the mystery drug finally took its course over his body, soon to purge his mind of any real thought, he wondered if he wasn't a lot like Gohan in a sense. Fake. False. Clinging to one side of his bloodline rather than embracing both. It was easier to be the monster. It was easier to be Saiyan because no one on earth really knew what to expect from one. You couldn't be judged or "figured out". You could never be thrown into any stereotype or dissected. You were above them. And no one could ever really know you.

But also, in that beautiful game... no one could ever really understand you either.

Mirai had at one point appeared at the edge of the bed, just staring at the glazed over look in Trunks' eyes. Watching the powerful, chiseled chest rise and fall harshly as the drugs coursed through his veins. His arms and fingers would sometimes twitch, spasming from his nerve's rejection of the self inflicted poison. But other than that, the young man looked dead to the world. Tears formed in the eyes, as sometimes happened when one was so transfixed in a drugged state that they would forget to even blink. What thoughts paralyzed the youth's mind, he could never be certain.

There was so much of Trunks that Mirai saw in himself; things even he wouldn't like to admit. There was the vanity, the coldness towards others. He had known that his entire lifetime. The inability to connect with any one person in all the world, he had felt that forever. But it was easier to numb it all. It was. It was easier to be the something than to be the nothing no one understood. So Mirai had been the hero, the warrior forever in the shadow of a father he'd never even met. But he'd been something. He'd played his role and been loved for it.

In a world full of heroes, where was Trunks' place? In a world with so many Saiyans all striving for some sense of identity, where did Trunks stand? Mirai knew the inward struggle that the hybrid blood could cause. Hell, he still did. You were never enough of anything and always too much of both. When you were looked upon to feel compassion as a human might, you couldn't register the pain that could create it. Yet when you were forced to make cold, unfeeling decisions, the human blood would beg for mercy that was inappropriate. Mirai had figured that his own incompatibility with either race was a result of never knowing a full blooded Saiyan. But even though Trunks had his father, it never filled the void. He would never understand his Saiyan instincts and could never accept his human weaknesses.

Trunks finally blinked, his eye lids scrapping over his dry pupils like sand paper. The world had become a massive fog of confusion and numbness. The kind of fog he preferred his life be. One big blurred out orgy. God, he almost smiled. Those were the days. He felt the breath come inside his body as though he had been under water for hours, desperately taking it in.

Something warm lay next to him, a body turned over on its side, breathing deep in sleep. He could immediately recognize the golden tanned skin and piercing violet hair that seemed such a contrast to the blurred world around it. The beautiful being that would always make things unclear yet discernable as though looking through a glass. Trunks crawled to his side, feeling the world bend and contort around him, his mind slowly being freed of the drug. He nuzzled against the warm back of his older self, spooning the beautiful, hard body that was his, yet never really his. God, but wasn't the world one big fucking contradiction these days.

He buried his face into the back of Mirai's neck, hand wrapping around the middle and slowly moving downwards. Trunks grinned wickedly when Mirai's hand grabbed his that had been lingering dangerously close to a certain area.

"I see you're awake," Mirai sighed, never moving.

"I never fell asleep my love," Trunks purred, kissing the back of the other's neck sweetly as his hand was released.

"No, but a drugged out stupor can strangely be misconceived as such." Mirai sighed, ignoring the suggestive movements of the younger version.

"Hmmm..." Trunks moaned charmingly, moving his fingers so delicately downwards once more. "Then why not keep me sober Mirai?"

Mirai grabbed Trunks' hand just before it cupped his penis, tossing the arm off of him and leaning up to stare down at the other.

"You're absolutely insufferable sometimes, you know that?" He growled.

"Of course," Trunks smiled sweetly, enchanting Mirai with the sheer boldness. He quickly averted his attention, grabbing at the syringe that lay next to the young man.

"Why do you do this shit to yourself?" he sighed, tossing the object onto the floor. "Is reality so horrible Trunks?"

"Absolutely," Trunks laughed, wrapping his arms around Mirai's neck and yanking him down to his chest. "So why not come into my world with me?"

Mirai sighed once more, letting himself be held for a moment.

"I know you won't stop," he breathed against the other's throat, enjoying this intimacy more than he'd like to admit. "And for right now, that's probably for the best. But it worries me that you sink so deeply into the drugs Trunks."

"It's been a rough day," Trunks smiled, eyes shut as he faced the ceiling.

"Has it?" Mirai questioned, moving to stare up at Trunks.

"Unbelievably so." Trunks sighed, losing his grin for a moment. "Nearly got my teeth knocked out by my father. Nearly fucked him. And then got compared to a dead body. All in all, it's been a weird day."

He suddenly laughed, shaking his head.

"Day time television couldn't even handle this shit."

Mirai had to smile at Trunks' strange sense of humor, in that, what most people would take as the grandest insult of all time, was simply a small impediment to Trunks. Rejection was part of the game, part of the thrill. If he had given up from the thousands of people that denied him from the start, he would never have been so good at what he did. But if anything, it only encouraged him. Mirai had to almost laugh.. Poor Vegeta. Things might have been easier if he had at one point given in, if only to be rid of his incestuous son's obsession. As things stood though, Vegeta's pride would never allow him to give in if the incentive to do so wasn't already there.

"Come with me Trunks," Mirai implored, staring at the gorgeous, flawless face that lay beneath him.

"Ohhhhh no," Trunks laughed. "No no no no. I played that little game with you far too many times. I'm not in the mood for it this time. I learned my lesson. I'm not following you anywhere."

"Trust me," Mirai moved closer, knowing exactly how to get Trunks' mind off their previous "ventures". "I want to show you something."

"Sorry," Trunks groaned. "But whatever train wreck catastrophe you have in mind will just have to wait. I've got a fucking headache."

"But don't you remember our little deal," Mirai maneuvered his body, positioning his legs on either side of the other man's torso. He glared down with a crude smile pasted on his face, eyes glittering. "Or have the drugs taken such a toll on your brain that you can't remember my promise if you cooperate?"

"Hmmm..." Trunks moaned, suddenly throwing Mirai down on the mattress and pinning back his shoulders. He forced his knee between Mirai's leg, pushing it upwards against the other man's groin. "I think I need to be reminded."

He skillfully pressed his knee against Mirai's cock, sliding it up and down until he could feel the heat and blood pumping within the shaft. Mirai visibly tried to regain control, blinking his eyes when they would roll back into his head. He moved his hands to push Trunks back but was only met with more seductive movements that clouded his judgement. The same old thing, the same old seduction. Yet why did he fall prey to it so often?

Suddenly the movements ceased, the cruel, detached look for a moment leaving Trunks eyes and being replaced by a simple, thoughtful gaze. Mirai felt for a moment that he was looking into a mirror, though before this, he'd so often only focused on how his younger version differed so greatly from him. But the harsh scowl or scheming grin was wiped away from the beautiful face and only intelligence graced the lines of Trunks' features.

"You know," He said in an almost confused voice. "I think if I ever were to love, to really love if such exists, it could only be you."

Mirai glared up at him.

"You're saying that to seduce me," He insisted. "The same old game Trunks."

The other was silent, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"Maybe," he said softly, gazing around the room as he sighed. "But wouldn't it be ironic if the only person in the world I ever learned to give a shit about was me?"

Mirai just rolled his eyes, not missing the eerie sensation he had been caught with in this conversation.

"Tell you what," Trunks smiled down at him. "I'll go with you, I'll do what you want. One way or another I have to tackle this anyways lest I be forever nagged by you and my mother. So I'll do what you want me to. But when all is said and done, when you've had your little inevitable disappointment and accepted the truth... I want you to come to me willingly. Not because I make you dizzyingly horny, not because I blind you with sexual instinct, but because you want it. Because you want me as I am."

Mirai simply stared upwards, wanting to tell Trunks suddenly of the love that Goten had confessed, of the undying affection that he held for Trunks, the real Trunks. The side that no victim had ever really seen, the monster behind the masquerade. But the moment was lost when Trunks quickly lowered his mouth over Mirai's, kissing him so deeply that his eyes rolled back into his head and his toes curled in his boots.

The dizzying, horny effect that could make even an old soul swoon like a prepubescent fool. Pulling back, Trunks stared down at him, the usual, numb expression still vacant from his face. Mirai could only look into those eyes that so many had fallen for, look up at that imploring, immaculate face so many had dreamed of. And so he nodded, knowing that if it ever came to that, he would do precisely what Trunks wanted. He would succumb to the unfeeling creature that this beautiful, breathing thing was. He would surrender his morals, his values, his everything for the desire he pulsated with whenever he came around Trunks.

And what's more, he wouldn't feel bad about it. He would know that deep deep inside, it was something they both wanted. Hell, it was something he wanted right then.

'Concentrate', Mirai had to remind himself, breathing hard as he stared down at his body. 'There's still so much to do... And so little time.'

"Can I see some ID?" The brawny waiter looked down at Trunks, the room filled with cigarette smoke and the scent of old vomit. The saloon was mostly vacant this time of day, probably only something like two in the afternoon. Begrudgingly, Trunks dug into his pocket, pulling out his wallet that was more than stuffed with cash and whipping out his driver's license.

The waiter just looked at it with hardly a passing glance before tossing it nonchalantly onto the table top.

"Be just a minute on that," He said in a bored voice.

"Wait, aren't you going to card him?" Trunks asked, glancing over at Mirai who looked exactly the same age as he did. The waiter's eyes lazily slid over to Mirai who simply smiled upwards before the brown haired man rolled his eyes and trudged off.

"Now what the fuck is that logic?" Trunks grumbled, stuffing his ID back into his enlarged wallet. "No wonder I never come to this shit hole anymore. And look, they only even gave us one fucking water."

Mirai just sighed, sliding the glass closer to the younger man.

"You really ought to control that nasty attitude of yours once in a while Trunks," Mirai said. "Pick your battles. It's no big deal."

"What are we doing here regardless Mirai?" Trunks groaned, supporting his weight on his elbow. "or is some little cripple boy gonna walk in and get castrated in a bar fight or something?"

"I hardly find that funny," Mirai snorted in a very superior fashion. "If you must know, we're getting you a drink."

Trunks raised his eyebrow, leaning over the table suggestively.

"What.. are ya trying to get me all liquored up?" he grinned. "Gonna take advantage of me?"

Mirai just rolled his eyes.

"Like I'd need to get you liquored up to get laid Trunks," he crossed his arms.

"Yeah, but it sometimes helps," The younger laughed. "here, quick, I'll slip myself a roofy!"

Mirai had to give a half smirk to that one.

"You're a character Trunks," He laughed. "I have to give you that."

"You're going to give me a lot more once you hurry up and tell me what this is all about." Trunks sat back in his chair, folding his hands together. "Where's my next example of love?"

"We're not here about love," Mirai stated calmly. "We're here just to get you a drink. You won't be learning about love today."

"Then what about," Trunks asked, suddenly interested.

"We're going to learn about you." Mirai leaned forwards. "We're going to dissect your mind today, specifically, your memories. I just need to you agree that you'll cooperate, no matter what the conclusion we come to."

"I already told you Mirai," Trunks said softly. "Whatever the result, whatever I need to do, that's fine. Just don't be so disappointed when you don't find me jumping through fucking hoops in the end. As long as I get what I want, I don't mind the means."

"Good," Mirai smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that.

He quickly took a device out his pocket, carefully setting it down on the table top, still clutched in his hand. Whatever it was appeared to be fragile, and most definitely capsule corp made. Tiny little sprockets and lights glittered along the metal device that stood perhaps three inches thick and six inches tall, perfect to be held in a man's hand and apparently designed for such.

Trunks just stared at the thing, shrugging his shoulders once more.

"So what it is?" he asked, slightly curious against his better judgement.

"It's a control device that goes with this." Mirai informed him, holding up a thin, square little chip that fit snuggly between his pointer finger and thumb. "It's a memory chip I swiped out of Bulma's lab."

Trunks laughed heartily, loving that he'd placed two and two together. Mirai seemed slightly startled, gazing at him with curiosity.

"My mother was looking for that the other day," Trunks grinned. "Even accused me of taking it. I TOLD her that you weren't above sneaking things out for your own usage."

Mirai raised his eyebrow, smirking as well.

"I actually did her a favor," He informed the other. "She had a few wires in the wrong place. My mother claimed it had taken her years to finish this very instrument because of that same reason. I probably bumped your mom up at least several years. She had programmed this to make you relive memories as though you were just reliving them through your own mind. With my little touches, we can BOTH be part of your past as though we're merely looking in on the outside. It's really quite amazing if I do say so myself."

Trunks had been listening quietly for once, eyes unreadable as they nearly always were. His hands folded so delicately upon his lap began to fidget at Mirai wore on about his accomplishment, Trunks' mouth twitching from time to time as if to interrupt.

"So... we're going to be inside my brain." He questioned slowly, taking the chip from Mirai's fingers. "Through this little thing, we're going to relive my past... see my old memories as if they were a movie."

"That's the plan," Mirai grinned. "Or are you uncomfortable with me knowing your past Trunks?"

The striking blue eyes righted themselves, Trunks lifting his head in superiority before running his fingers through his hair.

"Not at all," he grinned arrogantly. "My life is an open book. Anyone can take a piss on the pages."

They stood out in an open field in the middle of what seemed to be virtually no where, the wind blowing soft, warm breezes as Trunks merely sat with his legs crossed on the wheat. Mirai was tinkering with the "miracle" device, cursing from time to time before handing the chip carefully to Trunks.

"Place it behind your left ear," He instructed. "it might hurt slightly when it clips on, but it should be very quick. Hold it in place for several moments to insure it's on there. When I give the word, I want you to think of exactly what I'm asking you to so that I can get a very direct signal on the specific memory I'm looking for. Once I get it, I'm going to lock us in and from there, despite what your mind will be currently thinking of, we will simply be watching your memories from the outside."

"What will it look like?" Trunks asked curiously.

"Like one entire projection screen over your entire world," Mirai answered. "Whatever happens outside here, we'll be completely helpless to stop it. We will move and we will talk and if anyone is outside the projection, they'll see and hear everything but the memory that we're living inside."

"Ahhh.. " Trunks nodded. "So that's why we're all the way out here. I see."

He did precisely what he was told, refusing his desire to itch the little chip when he felt the sting of its locking onto his skin. Mirai just watched, breathing heavily as if exhausted from the short little flight they'd had on the way out here.

"Alright," He said, pressing several buttons on the device. "I want you to think of Goku, Trunks. I want you to think of him on that day by ChiChi's grave. I want you to remember how you felt that day, everything you did with him. Think of it vividly and tell me when you have it."

With a sigh and a heavy feeling of foreboding, Trunks closed his eyes, searching his mind for exactly what Mirai needed before nodding.

Opening his eyes, he was met by an entirely different world, the bright, high sun gone from the sky. Red and pink and orange and yellow streaks ran across the fading sunlight, the stars beginning to show far in the distance. There were trees and the grass beneath his feet was green and lush, signally spring time. He could even smell the air, the life that simply thrived around him when the place he could recall leaving was limp and dying with approaching winter.

And then he heard the sobs and muffled cries, smelt the burning, salty scent of tears. Glancing behind him, he could see Mirai walking nonchalantly through isles of mourning people, apparently attending a funeral.

"Jesus you asshole," he laughed. "They'll see you."

"No," Mirai rolled his eyes. "They won't. This is your memory Trunks. This is how vivid you remember what you'd done. See? Look over there."

Trunks glanced over towards where Mirai pointed, jumping slightly when he saw himself, head lowered in mock grief. He was blown away by how clear and yes, how vivid everything was. It wasn't dream-like or foggy like a memory often felt. It was a whole new world! Everything to the size and shape of the chairs, to the way that the wind caught his mother's hair; it was amazing. He watched his own beautiful body go through the motions, exactly as he had remembered doing them. Wiping at dry eyes with scented handkerchiefs, smiling sadly and pitiably when people hugged you. Noding kindly when they offered their empty condolences, as if you'd truly given two cums about the blasted, useless woman.

You would have sworn it was HIS mother the way that people fussed.

Still, it was if he had blinked into an entirely different world, the memory SO absolute that he couldn't even recall having noticed half of the things projected. And yet there was a creeping feeling of foreboding that sank into the pit of his stomach, his heart fluttering slightly at what he knew was coming. Was he excited to be here? To be reliving one of his greatest accomplishments? Of course! But then why did he suddenly feel cold dread wrap around him? Why did the heavy feeling in his stomach seem to cause such unbearable waves of nausea?

"Yes," Mirai was saying, oblivious to Trunks. "You may not recall everything being so clear. Hell, you probably never even noticed the pin stripes on this guys' suit", he pointed. "Or the smell of this woman's perfume. Memories aren't made that way. That's the beauty of the chip. Whatever you don't remember, it will recall. Things you never realized your senses took notice of, were stored away, only able to be projected because of that chip. You'll see things you don't perfectly recall but they happened just the same as anything else."

Trunks nodded and quietly watched, as Mirai did, when others began to leave, solemn faces crawling and ducking into old cars that just as slowly rolled away from the cemetery. Vegeta held Goku, the scene permanently engraved and perhaps even prolonged in Trunks' memory. Just seeing the two as both his idols, both his desires, holding onto one another in such an intimate embrace made his blood burn, years after the fact.

Goku though was, as he recalled, entirely belligerent and inconsolable, throwing his body in a rather dramatic and pitiable display over his dead wife's grave. Vegeta's eyes seemed less then impressed, his body tense and uneasy as he watched Goku sob. Goten's eyes, as Trunks recalled more vividly than he cared to admit were, as always, fearful and protective of the grieving man, only Vegeta's kind words finally forcing him to leave.

And there it had happened. When the last of the "mourners" and "grievers" had said their tedious goodbyes, Trunks saw that he alone remained, standing behind the incredible saiyan hero, eyes as dangerous and gleaming as a conscienceless murderer.

True, it was him. There was no denying it. But it felt suddenly like an entirely different experience to be watching from the outside, to see yourself as others only could. He knew the beauty, he'd created the strength, but to see the cold, cruel detachment in his own eyes... To watch the unfeeling pupils alight only when scheming complete travesties... it was almost as though the fragile mind couldn't handle it.

Trunks watched himself approach the bent over figure of Goku, not missing the malicious look covering his face. Yes, he remembered this. Yes, he knew the outcome. But at the time, it had seemed so erotic, watching the shoulders of the handsome Saiyan shake with grief; bent over his wife's grave at a painful angle. Now he watched it with a numb fascination, torn between the strange nausea he seemed be experiencing and the amazing victory that was about to ensue for him yet again.

The Trunks from memory looked around, eyes gleaming as he slowly put a comforting hand on the other man's back, rubbing gently as Goku looked up in surprise. Mirai and Trunks just watched, standing not even four feet away from the scene.

"Trunks," Goku said uneasily, moving slightly backwards.

Trunks had to smile to himself, watching this all play over again. He knew that look of fear, of uneasiness. Everyone used it around him. And seeing the uncertainty in Goku's eyes, watching with fascination, Trunks had realized how easy this would be. He could remember feeding his confidence with that look, using it to achieve what had once been called the impossible.

"I'm sorry Goku," He had purred. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just thought you might could need…a friend or something."

Goku sniffed, turning away to look at Chi Chi's grave once more. Tears ran freely down his face, yet his voice remained even.

"I could have sworn you left with the others," The older Saiyan breathed, apparently ignoring or perhaps even oblivious to the signals Trunks was throwing at him.

"I came back." Trunks shrugged. "As I said, I didn't think you needed to be alone at a time like this. Alone time can come later, Goku. You need a friend right now."

"No," the other Saiyan shook his head, lips forming a sob. "I need my wife right now."

Trunks watched himself gather the older man into his arms, pulling Goku's head down to his shoulder as the Saiyan cried. 'Oh yes,' he almost said aloud. 'I remember this part.' Mirai glanced over, watching the other's reaction but saying nothing.

They both watched as Trunks let them fall to the ground in a heap, laying on his knees and supporting the other man in his arms; feeling the cold tears soak into his shirt. Goku had completely lost himself in the moment, crying out in desperate sobs, bawling like a child against Trunks' warm, offered body. Perhaps for Mirai, the greatest shock up to this point was seeing his flawless hero in such a state. The once-thought impenetrable Goku collapsed to his knees in grief. As Mirai thought of it, he couldn't remember ever having seen Goku cry or even come near it. It was alarming to witness.

"Shhh… Shhh.." Trunks heard himself whisper, fascinated by the scene. "I know how you feel."

Goku pulled back, almost irate from behind his tears. Trunks could recall having felt an amount of fear, being faced with an irrational super hero.

"Bullshit!" He sobbed. "How could you possibly think you know how this feels?!"

Trunks watched, completely obsessed with this rerun; watching his younger self pull away, jumping to his feet and feigning pain. He suddenly had to glance away, the features and lines of his face so like that of mannequin, so false like that of a puppet -there for a moment, gone the next- never having changed the creature inside.

"You think I've never lost anyone before?!" He watched himself shout, seeing the false emotions play over a usually stoic face. "You think I was always like this?!"

Trunks had to smile to himself wearily, dodging a glare from Mirai. He'd never lost a thing in his lifetime, nor had he ever given a damn enough to care if he had.

"You're just like the others Goku!" he fake cried, burying his laughing face against his palms. Trunks looked away again. "You think I'm completely heartless! Completely incapable of pain!"

Goku righted himself immediately, face flushed from crying and embarrassment at his outrage. He'd had no right to lash out like that or assume anything about the other. He walked hesitantly towards the Saiyan, reaching out to comfort the shaking shoulder, unaware that beneath the covered hands, Trunks was laughing in victory. And yes, he didn't need to watch to remember it.

"No, you're right," Goku sighed. "I'm sorry Trunks. I didn't mean that, I-…. Who did you lose?"

Trunks turned on him suddenly, wrapping his arms over the tall, broad shoulders and staring into the dark eyes. Goku tensed immediately, struggling slightly to pull back from the close position.

"It doesn't matter now," Trunks whispered, holding the other in place. "I don't want to focus on that. Right now, it's time to heal your pain Goku. I can't stand to see you like this. You're an old friend, just tell me, what can I do to make it better? Anything."

Goku just stared at him, completely silent, unable to register the closeness of the other man's body pressed against his own, the heat emanating from Trunks' very pores radiating around him. He was becoming delirious with his confusion, the day simply too much to handle suddenly.

"Trunks I-.."

"Don't worry Goku," Trunks smiled, moving one hand very slowly down the handsome chest of the other man, trailing his way downwards. "I said anything."

He grabbed the older Saiyan's cock right through his pants, holding Goku still as he struggled to get away. Trunks felt the nausea whip around in his stomach and he almost wretched right into his mouth.

"I meant it."

Goku tried to push him away, feeling vulnerable by his penis being at the mercy of this monstrous creature. He pushed at the shoulders that pressed against him, unable to believe that he was fighting more of a battle with himself than even Trunks.

"Don't struggle Goku," Trunks snapped, grabbing the beautiful face with his free hand and pulling him downward. "you've been strong enough for one day."

One kiss. That's all it ever took. They'd fight, they'd deny, they'd struggle with all their own will power and all it ever took was one kiss to destroy years of self control. Years of supposed "heterosexuality", years of being slaves to the bitter old, biblical ideas of monogamy. How easily morals could be dashed to pieces. At least, Trunks had to roll his eyes bitterly, in those days.

Mirai watched in silence, having stayed mute through the entire ordeal, more concentrating on Trunk's reaction rather than his own. Something strange had affected his younger self, watching as the two Trunks' seemed somehow different now. The one that had Goku seemed positively reeling in the moment, deliriously content with his victory. The present Trunks seemed almost bothered by it, at times staring away as if almost in shame, whether or not he realized it.

How easily Goku had given in though. The idea had seemed so ludicrous, so unbelievable--nothing more than an absurd rumor. Now, Mirai was faced with the reality of Trunks' power over people, the undefeatable Goku letting his eyes roll back into his head when the younger Saiyan slid to his knees, making kiss trails all down the well toned torso.

"What do you want me to do Goku?" The version teased, slowly unzipping the other man's pants and breathing hotly against the crotch area.

"Trunks, please," Goku nearly begged, trying to right himself. "Please, I can't do this. I can't!"

"Nonsense," Trunks smiled, slowly slipping his hand into the warm pants. "This is your therapy, your medicine. We're going to make you well again Goku. And no one will ever have to know."

He smiled up innocently, pulling out the erected penis right in front of his face.

"It's our secret. I promise."

Trunks had to look away, suddenly feeling the overpowering urge to vomit. It was uncontrollable as he heard the familiar sounds of sucking and slurping, his stomach turning painfully. He covered his mouth, clutching his stomach. He couldn't understand what was wrong anymore than he could cure it, crumpling down into sitting position and breathing hard.

"What the fuck..." he panted.

How this had seemed so erotic at the time; Goku crumpling pieces of his wife's gravestone in his hand, lips turned up in ecstasy at the single greatest blowjob of his life. What seemed so appealing at the time now sickened him uncontrollably, rendering him speechless and appalled. And the more powerful it came on, the more he couldn't understand it.

"I thought this was your favorite part," Mirai said calmly, coming to his side.

"No," Trunks shook his head, swallowing down the urge to vomit. He hated that Mirai saw him this way. He hated that he was registering any change yet it seemed his body had a mind of its own. Perhaps the program was to blame. "The last part's always my favorite."

"But you didn't stop at just once with Goku, did you? He was different. He was more. You slept with him for over a month."

Trunks only nodded, resisting the urge to look over at the two engaged in their act, figuring it was about the time he had tossed a condom at Goku and simply said "You want to fuck me, fuck me."

"He was Saiyan," He whispered, examining the grass under his feet and trying to get his nausea under control. "I'd never been with a Saiyan before. The raw power, the sex that could last for literally 12 hours at a time if we wanted it to. The orgasms were phenomenal. With humans there was always this sense of a lesser being graced with your time. Perhaps, I found some equality in Goku, however much we differentiated. Sexually, we were insatiable though."

He chanced a glance over towards the two, stomach flip flopping when he saw Goku enter him for the first time, that painful push of an enormous, hard cock finding its way against his prostate. He recalled how he had shivered in anticipation of it, nearly crying out loud when it bore into his body as deep as he'd ever felt anything go. He'd sworn it would tear him in two when the painful thrusting began, Goku surprisingly grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking it backwards as he pounded away.

"He could get me like this for hours," Trunks sighed, closing his eyes and turning away again. "It was like we never ran cold. The days when he tried to deny me were the greatest as I could so easily overpower his control, forcing him against the wall and playing the dominate role for as long as I wanted. Some times it was like a game or something. We'd meet somewhere in the sky, trying to levitate our bodies for as long as our minds could remain focused on it and eventually finding ourselves waking up in some remote part of the world.

"We never talked and I knew that made it easier. Perhaps, my idea of making it medicine worked better on Goku than I had originally assumed, his mind viewing me as nothing more than an object to release the pain upon. I think I liked that Goku could distance himself emotionally during sex, never seeing me as anything more than a sparring partner or something. He may have belonged to me in those days physically, but emotionally, his heart had been buried in the grave next to her."

He nodded towards ChiChi's grave, eyes averted away from the two 'lovers'.

"How do you know he never felt anything for you?" Mirai inquired, thrilled that Trunks had revealed this much. The paleness had for but a moment left the younger man's face, his eyes lowered as he breathed hard.

"It was easy." he sighed. "He just never fell in love with me. I can always tell when someone wants me, because basically, everyone does if I want them to. But he just never let himself feel anything more for me than a possible resentment and mostly desire. For those hours we were together, I freed him in a way not even she could. I took away the pain and the remembrance. I freed him from the memories and the dwelling and the observing and the regretting. I took it all away and gave him only pleasure of the body. You can't say I never did anything good!"

"Apparently, Gohan didn't share your sentiments." Mirai scolded, partially disappointed that the possible "regret" was now almost wiped entirely from Trunks' body language.

"Ahhh… Gohan," Trunks smirked, returning back to his normal self against Mirai's wishes. "Now there is a whole new tale. Tell me, do you have front row tickets for that one?"


	20. Chapter 20

Trunks glared down into his coffee, watching the cream twirl within the dark liquid, never having been stirred. It wound around itself, spinning in large, complex clouds; its own little dance it seemed. But in truth, he didn't even notice the mesmerizing display, his mind in entirely different places. Mirai just watched him in quiet contemplation, eyes lowered in thought.

To the untrained eye, one would believe that Trunks was mildly irritated, pouting perhaps. His sculpted eyebrows were turned slightly downwards, smooth, tan skin lightly squinted around his nose. His prettily shaped lips were pursed into a tight bow and his tantalizing, blue eyes never moved from their position in the coffee cup. Yet Mirai knew that what Trunks had witnessed was, in a word, wounding. Pride shattered and heart bruised, Trunks would never admit it openly that what he'd seen had even effected him. He'd spoken not a word since more or less refusing to continue the "exercise", stating only that he had a pounding headache and that Mirai's "confounded fucking contraption" had made him nauseous.

The part that only Mirai knew for certain was that while the side effects MIGHT have included the slightest of headaches, nausea was a distinct impossibility. So more or less, while he hid any contentment that might have registered physically, inside he could only smile in satisfaction. One way or another, the test had been an unparalleled success. More then he could have even expected.

"Mind if I borrow that chair?" A man asked Trunks, pointing at Mirai and shaking the youth out of his stuppor.

Trunks just looked up at the middle aged man that had interrupted his thought process, and glared. Taking the hint, the brunette quickly sauntered off to ask someone else.

"What a moron," Mirai rolled his eyes. "There are a thousand free chairs in this stupid little diner. Why the hell would he think he could take mine? People." He sighed.

But Trunks had hardly heard a word of it, eyes buried again in their position. He didn't even mind the imploring and scrutinizing look that he knew was plastered all over Mirai's face. Was it worth pretending he didn't give a shit? Was it even worth the effort when any half assed attempts would probably just make him look like a bigger fool for it? Yeah, he'd been bothered by what he saw. Yeah, he had remembered everything so differently and now, having witnessed it all over again, it had felt ... upsetting. He couldn't deny that. He'd tried for a few moments but had long since stopped trying to fool Mirai and even longer before, stopped trying to fool himself.

He felt like someone with steel-toed boots had just rammed one right into his ball sack. Yes, he couldn't even think of a better way to put it. He was now more asexual than he could ever recall being, four year olds undoubtedly having bigger sex drives. Yes, like a swift kick to the groin, he felt constantly like he was about to vomit, only a few minutes before having been able to even breathe normally. Everything felt shaky, everything felt insecure. For God's sake, if even his memories could fail him now, of what use was the world? Everything felt fake and false and eerie.

But rather than predictably thinking about Goku, it was Goten's face that continuously plagued his thoughts. The swirling coffee in his vision was but a background for syrupy, chocolate colored eyes. Eyes that had once looked up to him with pride and even idolism. Eyes that had long ago been the first thing he'd seen in the mornings and the last thing he'd seen at night. And the eyes that had closed when Goten had said goodbye for the very last time.

Trunks moved his hand from off the table top, seeing that it had begun to shake. He'd never blamed Goten for that decision. Hell, he'd more or less helped the younger man make it. It now seemed in his mind, like someone else's life; like someone else's emotions. Happiness that had filled him so entirely at the time he now could only taste sporadically through drugs. Happiness probably cooked up in someone's bathtub in Tijuana. Had everything been so wonderful then? Or was that just another memory distorted through time and that would probably fail him if he had to relive it through Mirai's horrific contraption?

He closed his own eyes, momentarily taken to a different place; momentarily free of the pain that lingered in that time. He could hear Goten's laughter in his ears, the same laughter that hadn't ever seemed to change. He could feel warm rays of the sun that they'd bathed in as children, taking naps together in fields far far away from anyone else. He guessed that that was how everything between them had always felt... far far away from everyone else in the world. Or perhaps, their own separate world completely.

He recalled times that felt so fleeting now, when their only cares were getting into mischief and then somehow getting out. Goten had been his only real friend in the whole wide world. He'd been all that mattered it seemed. When they'd fused together what was now so long ago, Trunks had felt ... He couldn't even accept what he'd felt that day. A completeness where he'd never even realized there was emptiness. Contentment, kindness, happiness. So many "ness"s. He'd known at the time that every wonderful feeling that had filled him was Goten's; the ecstasy of what heaven must feel like. And as quickly as he'd been filled up with it, it was gone just like that.

It was that moment that Trunks had felt things shatter around him. He'd never felt so lonely in his entire lifetime as he did when he would unfuse with Goten. The fusion itself had become his first real addiction, his first taste of a drug. But the more he indulged in it, the worse the 'coming down' became. Because with knowledge and time, he'd understood that what he was feeling was only a borrowed happiness. That "glimpse of heaven" was Goten's lifeforce, what Goten experienced every day. So why not Trunks? What was missing in Trunks that Goten had once described as "an endless sense of emptiness"? Why was the fusion HIS greatest experience and Goten's most horrifying?

Times scattered through Trunks mind like memories on a rapid wind. The time when Goten had finally refused the fusion technique, crying out that he simply couldn't handle the terrifying effect it had over him. When he'd claimed that he'd never felt so lonely or cold as when he'd been a part of Trunks' body. The time when Trunks had had his first taste of man-made happiness, the smallest kiss of what he'd experienced with Goten. The times when he could hardly even recognize his own best friend, so intoxicated and overwhelmed with his artificial 'happiness'.

And finally, the time when they'd both been old enough, when his injected 'happiness' had been forgotten and he felt once more what he had so long ago; not as a result of the fusion but simply as a result of holding Goten in his arms. His face had stung from the slap he'd well deserved but when he'd grabbed his old friend up in a crushing hug, it was forgotten. Maybe that had been the key thing - everything was forgotten.

Everything was forgotten for so long that one day, it seemed Trunks realized, HE'D been forgotten. In the delirium of Goten's borrowed world, Trunks had forgotten his own. The contentment of life with Goten had cost him the identity that he'd strove so hard for. It had been an endless vacation but never the reality that Trunks knew one way or another he would have to one day return to. Maybe that's what made things easier for him; maybe that's why so slyly, he'd begun to stray from Goten. Maybe that's why he began to cheat, to indulge in his drug addiction once more.

Because it was easier to walk out of paradise then to be cast out.

"You poured color into my life Trunks," Goten had said that day so long ago. "You made everything more beautiful."

Funny, Trunks had bitterly thought. Because the day he'd left, the day he'd watched Goten fly off, was the day he returned to his ugliness; to his world that now smelled of rot and cinders; the world where everything tasted like ashes.

And every day since, he'd dreamed of that happiness... shared so long ago in a world, far far away.

Trunks looked up from the coffee cup, swallowing hard before he nodded.

"Ok," he breathed in a steady voice. "I'm ready."

Trunks had barely spoken a word as the world around them melted away with a click of Mirai's button, revealing a simple shopping mall. He'd watched silently as the memory commenced, the air becoming still, the scent of new fabrics and tile floors reaching his nostrils. Racks of clothing stretched across the lavish store, revealing him, nonchalantly sorting through them. Trunks gazed at the vision of himself, the beautiful body adorned in a rather tight fitting black turtleneck, each expensive line of the fabric clutching to his impressive pectorals. Yes, in all his dwelling, Trunks had to crack a small smile.

"Man," he grinned momentarily, glancing over towards Mirai. "I would fuck me."

Mirai rolled his eyes, letting a tiny smile appear as he nodded.

"No wonder you want to 'save me' Mirai," Trunks smirked even wider. "God DAMN we're gorgeous!"

Cutting short the awkward humor, Mirai was nearly knocked to the ground as flying debris and concrete soared towards both their heads. Upon instinct, all three Trunks' dove towards the ground, though only one was in any danger. Sheet rock and twisted metal flew over their heads, pieces falling down and scattering over their bodies.

Both blushed in embarrassment for having dodged invisible objects, Mirai and Trunks laughing at each other before standing up and dusting off imaginary dust.

"Vivid memory you got there," Mirai swallowed, eyes darting around him.

"Yeah," Trunks laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tell that to the piss running down my pant leg."

Both sets of eyes returned to the scene before them, Mirai's blood running cold. There in a large, gapping hold in the wall, Gohan stood, a burning mass of fury and power. His clothes singed from the raw energy that cackled like lightening around him, pieces of handsome blue fabric dwindling in the air before dissipating from the heat. Mirai had to take a step back whether or not the vision of the memory could harm him. The very look in Gohan's eyes was enough to almost physically push him backwards, the young man's dull, haunting gaze anything but sane.

He realized in that very moment that he hadn't the faintest clue what he'd actually been expecting. Had he thought that Gohan would arrive calmly as ever, kindly asking Trunks to "step outside" like a civilized brute? Would the young man, overwhelmed by such bruising news of his father's downfall be so stoic about it? What had he thought!? That after hearing the unthinkable that Gohan would appear here asking questions for God's sake?!

Yet, it was as if Mirai wasn't even gazing at the same man he'd only encountered earlier that week. Hadn't Mirai been damn near raised by this man in his own timeline? How many years had he traced each line of that beautiful, kind face and NEVER seen it masked so horrifyingly?

Trunks seemed altogether unfazed, just watching as Gohan stood amongst the chaos of his own making, men and women and children scattering in all screaming directions. Pittering away from the unpredictable like ants fleeing the hill; insects, worthless and virtually helpless. Gohan stood there, eyes void of anything but fury. It seemed as though his body had ceased to become that of a young husband and father and instead, had converted into a shell for fire itself. Gohan was burning. Suddenly the innocence, the kindness, the goodness, all the wonderful attributes that had seemed to MAKE Gohan were vacant and a blood thirsty expression was all that remained. This wasn't Mirai's Gohan; this wasn't even the sorrowful echo he'd met with days before.

Perhaps, the horror of it was, that this... THIS...was the real Gohan.

"Holy...shit." Was all that Mirai could breathe, clothing racks and loose objects flying past.

"You expected something different?" Trunks glanced over towards him.

Mirai didn't even reward him with an answer, turning back to watch the scene as he promised himself he would, regardless of whether or not he really wanted to.

"Trunks," Gohan seethed through clenched teeth, eyes landing on the selfish, beautiful monster that regarded him with less then impressed acknowledgement.

"That hardly seemed necessary," The prince rolled his eyes. "I just bought this fucking shirt."

He eyed his torn sleeve irritably, entirely missing it when Gohan seemed to vanish into thin air, reappearing with his fist ingrained in Trunks' cheek. Blood and saliva sprayed into the air, the gorgeous shirt now the least of the younger man's worries. Mirai and Trunks BOTH had to look away as what ensued was quite probably the most vicious beating either one of them had ever encountered. Trunks most of all winced, face contorted in disgust and probably even fear at having to recall what had been so long just a foggy memory.

Mirai was focused only on the savagery with which Gohan attacked Trunks. There was no real rhyme or reason behind his attacks; no pattern or technique. What occurred was blind rage, fists swinging wildly and landing against soft, bleeding skin. Occasionally, in all his fury, Gohan would simply connect his knuckles to the concrete and tile beneath, the sickening sounds of bones cracking making him look away.

"I had no idea what this would be like," he swallowed down the bile. "It unnerves me that I'm making you relive this."

Trunks glanced over at the almost apologetic look that had overwhelmed Mirai's features.

"This?" he laughed with little humor. "I hardly even recall this part. Gohan quite literally knocked the sense OUT of me. I'm truly impressed that this could even be so vivid as I don't even remember when he'd first started attacking me and when he'd quit. I just recall what was left in the mirror not having been... so comely to look upon later."

Mirai just shook his head, instinctively trying to dodge when stray stream of blood flew right towards him. At this point, Trunks had made no move to either defend himself or even strike back, simply laying beneath Gohan as the other worked out what must have been a lifetime's worth of frustration.

"I grew up with that man," Mirai cringed. "And never once did I see him like this. Never once in all his frustrations and failures did he lose it quite like this."

"Of course not," Trunks sighed, crossing his arms. "Your Gohan was a real person."

Mirai finally tore his eyes from the scene, looking over towards Trunks quizzically.

"That," Trunks nodded his head towards Gohan. "that is the real Gohan. Before then? Please."

"I'm not getting what you mean," Mirai replied kindly. "Are you saying before this that... Gohan was a fake?"

"Do I really need to even expound?" Trunks raised his eyebrow. "How often have people accused me of refusing to embrace my human side? How often has father probably accused you of not embracing your "saiyan" side?"

Mirai had to grin just slightly, having heard those exact words countless times when he and Vegeta had trained for a year in that horrible room.

"Gohan though," Trunks continued. "Gohan never embraced either one. Never accepting that he was Saiyan, he was never human either. Gohan, my beautiful, my perfect, my walking fiction. Everything about his entire life is and was a lie. He was the fantastical fiction from the day he was born. Gohan, the straight, intelligent, perfect son of the single greatest hero of all fucking time! Yet we both know damn good and well that Gohan was always gay. We also know that his supposed "endless endeavor for intellect" was one big fuckin fiasco to keep his wretched mother at bay. So what did that make of him? All he had in the world was the one basis for life. That Goku, his father, his hero... would never fail him."

They both turned their attention quickly over towards Gohan who had quite literally punched Trunks through an entire building, his body soaring through the air. Gohan was instantly on him, wrapping steely fingers around a thick, corded throat and flying them both through the air on a destination to God knows where.

"Goku DID fall though," Mirai breathed, beginning to understand this.

"Right down to his fucking knees," Trunks smiled somewhat cruelly, but without the usual fire behind it. "Everything about Gohan's entire life was a farce and as he saw it, his entire identity was a huge lie. But HIS identity was also upheld by the undefeatable reputation of his father. So when the great hero finally displayed some fucking mortality... it crushed Gohan's entire world."

Mirai watched as they were taken through the air, their feet never leaving the ground as Gohan ripped both their bodies through the sky. Where was this destination that only he could know of? Where was he taking his most hated captive? Mirai's eyes scanned Trunks for the time being, the face that could have spawned a thousand pictures remaining unreadable as always.

Trees and seas and lands and skies it seemed past beneath them, yet the flawless face remained captive to the two bodies that soared at breakneck pace over them. What could the youth be thinking of, Mirai had to wonder. What countless things could have crossed a once thought to be conscienceless mind? Was that the human flaw in himself? That Mirai would forever be the stereotypical, one of the thousands that had gazed upon Trunks' face and come to the crude conclusion that there was nothing behind it? Was that why so many would let themselves fall prey to the beauty? Never suspecting the monster behind the mask?

Gohan in the meantime had hurled Trunks' body to the ground, the earth as they'd seen it suddenly changed. Where there had been a million buildings and possibly countless innocents and pedestrians, there remained now only trees and dirt and beautiful waterfalls. A sort of paradise that comes to mind when one reads Genesis in the bible.

Gorgeous, clear water fell lazily down long falls, jungle-like plants lining the picturesque pond in colors the human dictionary does not contain words for. Mountains and trees that a modern day painter could fall in love with day after day yet never give any true justice in his work. An exquisite landscape, untouched by the pollution of mankind. Places you could see on a postcard and hardly believe existed in such a world.

Trunks had fallen to the ground, Gohan pinning him down with his legs straddling the younger man. The red coating of pressurize blood vessels around Gohan's eyes created the perfect look of absolute madness. Veins crowded around his temples and his neck was strained as he wrapped cold, iron fingers around the younger Saiyan's throat. All in all, the two were the greatest contradiction to the paradise surrounding them. His teeth made a gritting noise as saliva and blood dripped from his mouth, his gums bleeding with the force. Everytime panted breath seeped through the rows of his teeth, blood and spit would spray down on the young face beneath him. Trunks' eyes were glazing over with blood vessels, blinking horribly as he stared upwards.

His hands were rimmed with pumping veins as he gripped Gohan's wrists, struggling to free his throat. Yet even when his nails dug into the tawny skin, blood gushing over them, Gohan didn't stop. Trunks threw his head back against the ground, eyes rolling upwards as his thick lips turned purple, the cords of muscle in his throat sticking out as he pleaded for air. The heels of his shoes dug frantically against the dirt, his back arching upwards.

Choking sounds made Mirai's stomach fluctuate with nausea, his eyes darting around to avoid having to see one of the greatest men he'd ever known choking the life from Trunks. The picture of the two in itself was perhaps the most psychologically upsetting scene he'd had to witness since returning. Gohan, who had been his love, his teacher, his father, his fucking everything, in a sense, killing HIM right before his own eyes. He constantly had to remind himself of the circumstances, of the obvious differences. Yet the horror of witnessing such remained the same.

"Why?!" Gohan was screaming through his teeth, his hands shaking as he closed them closer and closer around the windpipe. "Why him?! Why her? Why me?!"

He was stuttering at an uncontrollable pace, every breath shaking and every word sporadic and incoherent. Mirai strove to make sense of what Gohan was screaming, of what words could condone the behavior he was displaying towards a man that had up until this point, not even tried to fight back.

Yet, in that, Mirai found a great mystery. As silent, as unreadable as Trunks was, there was an unavoidable presence to him. There was strength and not only sexually behind the skilled eyes and intimidating figure. So why hadn't the young man fought back? He had not yet lost consciousness, his cold, cruel eyes staring upwards as Gohan choked the life from his lungs. Yet he hadn't made even the slightest move. No defense what-so-ever. Why not? Why did it strike Mirai as suddenly... that Trunks didn't have any desire to fight for his life?

"God damn it!" Gohan kept screaming, finally collapsing to the ground next to Trunks unmoving figure. "Why can't you feel? Why don't you care?! FEEL you STUPID FUCK!!"

Suddenly, Mirai felt himself nearly stumble backwards, Trunks' breath catching in his lungs as though he hadn't recalled this part.

Gohan's fingers were now embedded in Trunks' chest, the fingernail entirely disappeared as blood spurted into the Son's immaculate face. Gohan's eyes were alight as though they were someone else's entirely, his teeth gleaming as he smiled sadistically. Mirai had to grab ahold of Trunks' arm, swallowing down bile as though he couldn't even recognize this blood thirsty creature any longer. Blood poured into Gohan's wide open eyes, though he never even attempted to blink it out, apparently having gotten the reaction he'd been desiring. The body beneath him suddenly squirmed to life, hands desperately trying to tear the two fingers out of his chest.

Trunks eyes were wide, staring in disbelief at the pain that went surging through his entire system, nearly paralyzing him. He let out a choked gasp, feeling the skin stretch and tear when Gohan's fingers pushed harder and deeper. Sinewy strands of veins and muscle split, blood spraying into Gohan's face as he smiled downwards.

"You feel that Trunks," Gohan was panting as he curiously moved them about, pressing almost through the ribcage. "You feel that pain brat prince?"

It was as if Trunks had finally awoken from his dream, screaming, legs bending as he tried to push himself away from Gohan. Gohan though was in his element, eyes sparkling as he indulged in what he could only imagine was the ultimate aphrodisiac, feeling the slippery bone structure and the feverish pounding from the heart so close beneath the pads of his fingertips.

"You feel this?" Gohan suddenly cupped the back of Trunks' neck, pushing his fingers through the bone, the sickening crack making him smile. "This is how you make me feel every fucking day."

The deeper the fingernails dug, the closer they came to piercing Trunks' heart. The gorgeous, purple hair was flailing about he tied desperately to protect it; that heart that no one even knew existed, the heart that pumped blood, coursed it never ending to animate a body that no one could even imagine felt pain or hurt or anything at all.

And now? That body was surging with energy, with the will to live as it has ceased to for only a moment. Trunks' hand suddenly wrapped itself around Gohan's, instantaneously crushing the fingers in its grasp. The sound of bones crunching and breaking against one another permeated the air, Gohan's eyes suddenly alight with recognition of what was happening. All the numb, psychotic detachment left his eyes as his fingers turned to what can be described as only mush and gore, falling to the side as he screamed.

The sound was heart stopping, every pain, every hate, every rage and every lie tearing its way through his vocal cords in a hoarse, bloody sound. Gohan toppled over, cradling his hand against his chest as he sobbed out the indescribable, cursing Trunks with every breath. The words escaping his mouth were incoherent screams, swears and vengeful promises coursing through his lips.

"Fuck!" he cried. "You soulless fuck!"

Trunks stood, coldly taking to his feet and staring down at the fallen warrior. His eyes blazed with promises that were soon to be carried out, turning from their harsh blue to a haunting clear white as his hair flew into the air and became blonde. The transformation itself was as always, fear inspiring. Gohan could only look upwards between his panted gasps, Trunks' frozen eyes staring down in mock pity.

"How could you?!" Gohan screamed in a hoarse voice. "How could you take him from me?!"

Trunks' hand was suddenly around his throat, hoisting him weightlessly into the air. He suspended the other Saiyan before his eyes, watching each emotion play out for him as though it was some sort of entertainment, a movie to be pondered and soon forgotten later on.

"My hero," Gohan began to bawl with tearless eyes. "My fucking everything!!"

"Your lie." Trunks' voice said simply. "Your beautiful fucking lie."

With that, Gohan's body was thrown through the trees, a wrecking ball thrown at unparrelled speeds through the immaculate scenery. Trees were burned with the mere speed that his force crushed through them with, the large foliage in his way more or less dissipated by his body. Gohan's head was the first to land, plummeting through large bushes and finally digging into the dirt that basically buried him.

Mirai's eyes darted towards the living Trunks, gazing at the unreadable expression that met him. It was as if both were watching an entirely different being commit this atrocity, the justifiable vengeance of Gohan laid to waste only too easily by the golden haired creature that had been so passive at first. Trunks merely shrugged once more, turning away from Mirai's accusing stare.

Yet Mirai gazed a little longer, wondering if... as he was witnessing this for the first time, it wasn't as if, in a sense, Trunks was as well.

Gohan in the meantime had pulled himself from the early 'grave', throwing off weeds and dirt that had ground themselves into his scalp. His face was toiled with confusion and anger, his mouth in a hard scowl. Rather than flying, he coolly walked towards Trunks, his head down in silent contemplation, his face hard. Mirai took the moment to admire the young man, how alike, yet different he truly was from his father. Age in a Saiyan was never something they could wear on a face, for each was timeless despite being polluted by human blood. There was nothing in a Saiyan's skin but the scars from battle that would tell you where he's been or how long he was there.

Even the eyes, despite the characteristics, spoke only moderate tales of the years behind them. Yet oddly enough, Gohan would forever look the older brother of his own father. Perhaps, as Trunks had said, living a lie could age a man. How much stress and work was put into each movement of each day? How many smiles did he fake in one afternoon, or how many sweet lullybys did he drown out to a daughter he didn't really even like? How many kisses, how many intimate moments did he nauseate his way through every week?

And how many unhealable bruises could such a secret inflict on the inside of a man?

Gohan now solemnly stood on the otherside of a what could be considered a sort of swamp or pond, his arms crossed hard over his pectorals. His eyes were planted on Trunks' face, the harsh contours, so like that of Goku's promising anything but the mercy his father repeatedly bestowed. Perhaps that was one of the gifts that only ChiChi's blood could provide him. Where Goku's influence would teach him only to use his power for goodness and to protect, the human blood that surged in his veins dilluted that thinking. Yes, the human obsession with power and the vengence that could be carried out with it.

Gohan's eyes were like two steel marbles in his head, unmoving, unblinking as he slowly put one foot over the water, the other soon following as his energy hoisted him over the surface. The movement and sheer spectacle of such a beautiful figure walking on water was both inspiring and intimidating. The glassy surface hardly moved as Gohan's feet touched and left, tiny ripples the only proof that he'd been there at all.

Stopping in the middle of the pond, Gohan's gaze never wavered as he lifted his arms to the side, his energy pulling some of the water upwards in two large waves. Mirai could sense the ki building around the eldest son, the branches of trees slowly seeming to face towards him, plants being uprooted as the power built and sucked them towards it. Pieces of his tight, black undershirt were being singed, revealing tears over his chest and stomach. The gleaming, white skin, so much more like his mother's, peered out, delicately stretched over a flawless body and dramatically chiseled abs.

The water was quickly parted until it became like The Red Sea of the bible, fish frantically swimming as they were sucked upwards and thrown back down by the power that stood on recently dried ground directly in the middle. Gohan's cheeks began to shake, eyes red rimmed and focused only on his most hated enemy, Trunks. Mirai could only shiver in excitement and fear, the wind whipping trees and rocks and even water through the air past them. The sky itself began to roll above, the sun being hidden behind black cumulous clouds.

Mirai was in awe, arms wrapped around himself as Gohan's deep, dark power unleashed itself. The living deity. The breathing mortal with Godlike strenght.

And just as suddenly as something so beautiful was erected, two enormous waves of power were blasted from Gohan's hands, the earth on either side of him in the direct path. The world rose and shook, the entire scene vibrating violently. The waves of distruction purged the land for miles away, where there had been wild life and mother nature's beauty, there was now the scent of burned corpses and roasted earth. The very soil was blackened and embers burned where there had once been picturesque perfection.

Gohan's eyes, despite the horrors of the world around him, were shocking enough to take all the attention from Mirai. So furious was his power that tears from Gohan's very eyes were disappating right before his face. Steam rose over his forehead, sweat and tears bursting into the air.

"This new desire to live won't save you," Gohan promised, eyes dark as he lowered his arms. "I've overlooked your trespassing's before. I blame myself for that. Forgive me.." He stammered only slightly for a second, glancing down. "Forgive me for seeing something in you that could only be found in a different person entirely."

He righted himself.

"But you're not him Trunks. You couldn't be him and you never will be him. You're cold. You're already dead. And as I see it, my brat prince..." A cruel grin spread across his face, transforming him into a different being entirely. His hair shot upwards, the white blonde matching Trunks'. "You've only been waiting for the opportunity for someone to put you in the ground."

As though he had instantly transferred himself, Gohan had thrown Trunks against the sides of a still-standing waterfall, his back colliding painfully against the sharp rocks. Blood dashed down behind him, diluted only by drips of water that cascaded around them. Gohan only pushed harder, his teeth bared as he heard the sound of flesh breaking against stone. Trunks' face though, remained as stoic as always, clear eyes burning into his attacker's.

Grabbing the side of Gohan's face, he plunged the other side against the rock wall, blood ricocheting into his eyes. Teeth shattered and Gohan's cheek was slashed from both sides, parts of mollars flying out between his smashed lips. The muffled cry was enough to awaken Trunks' most primal senses, his tongue coming out to lick the blood that had poured against his mouth, spraying like a crimson mist.

Gohan whipped his body backwards, biting down the pain and swallowing his teeth before throwing his hand out, palm facing Trunks' nose before unleashing all hell against the immaculate face. The white fire blasted the other's body nearly a mile in the other direction, the scent of burning flesh taunted his instincts, every fiber in his being suddenly awakened with a simple goal... to slaughter, to purge, to end; ... To ruin something beautiful.

Blood and sweat and pained tears were flung into the air as both attacked without mercy, pushing their limits to the absolute brink before forcing their way there and beyond. Every time the other concluded that there was no where else to go, no further to ascend, they were proved wrong by the harsh reality of a fist flung towards them. Every punch was laced with fire, bruising and burning the skin it connected with. Energy so high created a magma-like touch, the flesh singed and bleeding after coming in contact.

Rock bases crumbled, trees burned to cinders. Air that once tasted polluted free became clouded with sulfur and smoke, poisoning the lungs with every panted breath. Hair and skin and sweat and blood was flung this way and that way, the sound like the screaming in hell; haunting. Cries of pain and rage came like the screams of the dying, the sound of a wet fist smacking against tenderized flesh making Mirai cringe.

"How," he had to ask suddenly, interrupting the all-too-violent scene. "how could you get so strong? I don't understand it."

Trunks seemed almost hesitant to pull his eyes away, looking over at Mirai with irritability dancing in his gaze.

"What do you think?" He spat indignantly. "I was fucking the strongest being of all time for a month straight. Twelve hours a day of straight physically challenging sex and anyone on earth could be damn near invincible."

Both glanced upwards where Gohan and the other Trunks were exchanging blows that could have taken the other's head clean off if either weren't paying close attention. It was odd to think that when it came to the majority of fights Mirai had seen, they were just that; fights. There was technique, there was the exchanging of compliments, of goads, of egos for certain. But it was, mostly, just a game. It was rare to see two ethereal powers battling it out NOT for glory, NOT for the earth, not for any sort of exchange at all. But both fighting for the harshest goals of all; for life and for death.

Everything was more brutal in a fight to the death, Mirai suddenly concluded. All bets were off and nothing, no low aiming, no cruel or salvage moves were considered "against the rules". Because there were no rules. There was nothing that could be considered "dirty". The aim was simple; to hurt, to end. Everything was more animalistic, more savage. The most basic of living instinct, to kill or to be killed.

Classically, they both suddenly landed a punch at the exact same time, both faces flying in opposite directions. The sky suddenly erupted with the impact, an entire wall of rain dashing through the clouds and falling down amongst them. Cinders that still burned from the fight were smothered by the rain, the earth beneath suddenly covered with steam and smoke that rose around them. Everything was now grey and black and red, both of the men burnt and bloody.

"I hate you," Gohan breathed, shoulders rising and falling as he panted, head low. "I fucking hate you."

"Please," Trunks laughed half heartedly. "you hate yourself much more than you could ever hate me."

With those words alone, the fight continued, blasts of gold and white firing up in the sky. Blood would spray, lightening flashing to reveal gleaming teeth and shards of falling flesh plummeting to the world below. The ground would rumble, sheets of rain blasted in all different directions due to the supreme power of the two. Gohan once more had one hand wrapped around Trunks' throat, an enormous, concentrated ki blast with more then enough power to take off the other man's head, building in his palm.

"Do it," Trunks laughed hysterically, spitting a tooth through his blood soaked lips. "I fucking dare you."

Gohan pulled his hand back, about to deliver the final blow when he hesitated just slightly, swallowing hard as he stared into Trunks' eyes. Both of his own darted back and forth, searching the young gaze for something.

"You can't do it, can you pussy boy?" Trunks cracked. "All this time and you can't even do it."

His face was suddenly masked, eyebrows upturned slightly, eyes void of the malice that usually reigned them. His lips turned up slightly, gorgeous face now resembling Mirai completely. The real Mirai suddenly backed up, breath catching in his lungs. The resemblence was uncanny and indisputable. Trunks now looked JUST like Mirai.

"P-please Gohan," He mocked, hands winding around Gohan's that still attached itself to his throat. "What about Cell? What about the androids? I fought by your side! You were my hero! You saved us all!"

"Stop it!" Gohan snapped, pulling his hand away as though he'd been burned. "Shut up!"

"I was coming back for you Gohan," Trunks mocked, sobbing falsely into his hands. "I just needed to save my world first. You were always on my mind, I promise! All that time spent in the chamber with my father? I just wanted to be strong enough for you, I just wanted to be able to save you. Oh Gohan..." He slowly reached out towards the other, eyes bright with mock pain. "I love you. Oh how I love you so much!"

Gohan's face distorted in agony, turning away when Trunks' cruel laughter broke through the air, resounding over the rain and thunder. The laughter was high pitched and to the breaking point of hysterical, making Mirai's blood turn to liquid ice in his veins. Gohan shrunk away from it, hiding his face.

"What Gohan," Trunks approached in a hostile manner. "Did you think it was a secret?! Did you think b I /b wouldn't know?"

Gohan tried to pull away violently when Trunks grabbed his arm, yanking the dark haired Saiyan to his chest.

"Oh, I knew," Trunks deliberately laughed right in his face. "I knew that when you looked at me, all you could see was him. That when you gazed into my face, it was his name you wanted to call me by. Your precious Mirai, your precious little ongoing fantasy."

Gohan tore himself away, snarling viciously.

"Gohan's dirty little secret," Trunks laughed heartily. "Yet I always knew. You can only speak so often about the achievements of one person. Yet you Gohan, you made his every move seem like it was delivered for the good of the world. How often my bedtimes stories consisted of the same old fairytales, the hero, always your beloved Mirai."

Gohan turned away, body shaking with resentment.

"That's why I knew you'd never do it precious," Trunks taunted, moving up behind Gohan and sliding his hand over the exposed torso. "I knew you could never kill me because you'd never kill him."

Gohan turned in that precise moment and buried his knuckles once more against Trunks' smug face, the head spinning sideways before Trunks hand came palm down across Gohan's cheek.

"You act like a bitch Gohan," Trunks grinned through red teeth. "And you're going to get smacked down like one."

Mirai snorted over at Trunks, the other's face still completely unreadable as he watched this chain of events. Mirai didn't know how to take was he was witnessing. Unlike he had expected, Trunks had never rejoiced in his memories, had never goaded or cheered himself on. Mirai had predicted only the most obscene of reactions from the young prince, having planned to be disgusted by the jeers and taunts that would come about. Uninexpectedly, Trunks had merely watched "the show" as he referred to it, calmly answering questions when asked but usually just staying quiet.

Mirai had to sigh slightly at the newest lesson he ought to have learned long before. That Trunks, in all his worldly ways, would NEVER be predictable.

Gohan had in the meantime been buried yet again, Trunks entire wrist covered by the dirt as he held the other under with cold, almost unseeing eyes. Hands flailed about without direction, feet kicking at the free air as lungs were denied it. Trunks seemed unaffected entirely, arm shaking as he struggled to keep the oldest son of his lover at bay, literally drowning him beneath the dark soil. A hand suddenly shot up, thumb digging into the old wound directly over Trunks' heart and forcing him to relinquish his statuesque hold over the other.

As Trunks stood near Mirai watching this happen, his fingers instinctively reached towards the scar that was over his own heart, moving the fabric and fingering it. Mirai watched this odd display, seeing the circular flaw that looked nearly fresh.

Trunks glared, noticing he was being watched.

"Fucker never even healed," He grumbled in a round-about way. "Apparently not even a sensu bean could take care of it."

The memory Trunks had screamed painfully in the meantime, yanking himself away from Gohan who quickly sat upwards, breathing feverishly for air. He toppled over to his stomach, heaving up loads of spit and dirt that had clouded his stomach. His fist pounded against the ground uselessly, his eyes finally releasing the tears that he'd held back for nearly a lifetime. He just collapsed against the burnt soil, bawling against his own vomit and saliva that still dripped from his mouth. Blood gashes were burned with fresh, salty tears as he just sobbed against the earth.

"Why?" he bawled, his shoulders shaking violently. "Why couldn't you have spared him that? Why couldn't you have left him with me?"

Trunks had since stood, as proud and untouched as ever, watching his opponent.

"He was my hero," Gohan screamed, fist punching through the ground. "He was the only thing that made sense!"

He crawled to his knees, crouching on all fours as he struggled to stand.

"He was the only one that never failed me." He cried, tears falling unto the ground. "Why? Why Trunks?"

He looked upwards, blood diluted by his tears as both drained down his face. His lips were bruised as he cried through them, pleading with Trunks through blackened eyes.

"You had Goten," He breathed, arms shaking as he tried to hold himself up. "You had everything. Why? Why did you need him? You could have taken me! You could have taken anyone else. I would have understood it. I would have accepted it. But he was all I had. He was the only thing in this world that was unbreakable but you..." He swallowed, his blood lips forming a sob. "you ruined him!"

He collapsed once more, bawling until his throat must have bled, until his eyes could barely keep up.

"You defeated him!" He screamed, chin digging into the dirt as he still cradled his one broken hand. "You crushed everything he stood for. Every fucking sacrifice, every person that loved him. You KILLED HIM!"

Trunks face had remained as unfeeling as ever, his feet, one by one, walking closer.

"You killed him," Gohan screamed, coughing up fits of blood and saliva once more. "You fucking killed us all you HEARTLESS SHIT!"

He simply remained, face imbed into the dirt, sobbing uncontrollably as Trunks stood over him.

"You killed yourself," Trunks spat harshly. "Get up."

He suddenly kicked Gohan straight beneath the chin, sending the other flying backwards. Gohan landed with a surprised thud on his back, staring up in horror as Trunks approached once more.

"Get up you sorry fuck!" Trunks screamed, landing a solid kick right against Gohan's unguarded stomach. Gohan toppled sideways with the pain, eyes blood shot as he struggled to breathe and hold back the vomit. He staggered sideways, clutching his gut as he drug himself on all fours away from the attacker. The fear in Gohan's eyes was real, Mirai suddenly wanting to help him, knowing there was virtually no way yet unable to accept it. The beautiful Son's fingers dug into the earth as he tore himself away, coughing as though his innards would soon come splashing out of his mouth.

"Get up!" Trunks screamed, foot once more landing against Gohan's stomach and literally lifting the older man into the air with the force. "Get your vengeance Gohan!"

The other landed on his back, unmoving as he sobbed and coughed, eyes closed in defeat.

"If this is what you live for," Trunks lifted his foot over Gohan's chest, stomping it down over his rib cage and grinning when the sound of a crack answered him. "LIVE FOR IT!"

Blood flew once more into the air, falling down against Gohan's face as he panted and heaved, lying on his back and staring upwards. His chest went up and down, the rotten, ashy air filtering through his lungs in what he figured, was the last time.

"But if you're waiting for me to give a fuck," Trunks smiled. "You'll wait forever."

Trunks booted foot came down hard against his throat, eyes burning savagely. It was as if Trunks was torn between two choices, the decision weighing in his mind.

"I should just fucking kill you," The beautiful mouth said squarely, blonde hair dancing crazily with the energy that cascaded through it. "I should do you this justice, this favor. Just fucking end this masquerade, this pathetic lie you consider a life."

Gohan closed his eyes, apparently accepting his defeat and awaiting the end of it all. Trunks watched with cruel fascination, smiling sadistically as he moved downwards to straddle the broken warrior. He propped his elbows on Gohan's chest, chin resting comfortably over the beautiful face, so much like that of his father's.

"Would you like that," Trunks asked sweetly, cocking his head to the side. "Would that be your forgiving? Would you let it go?"

His finger came across the open wounds and tears across Gohan's cheeks, the touch seductive and soft, yet pushing JUST hard enough to create pain with pleasure.

"Would that set you free my precious Gohan," His heartless eyes implored. "Would you love me for that?"

Gohan shuddered angrily beneath the touch, tears blurring his glaring eyes.

"Would you fall so easily as your daddy Gohan," Trunks smiled angelically. "Would you drop to your knees so quickly and worship every inch just like he did?"

Gohan struggled suddenly, pushing hard against Trunks' chest to no avail. The tortuous grin fell only slightly, Trunks' hands coming up to grip the sides of Gohan's face. His thumbs dug into deep wounds, crushing them open as the older Saiyan screamed in agony, Trunks sadistic eyes lightening as he watched the blood squirt over his fingernails.

"I really ought to you know," He laughed between clenched teeth, moving to touch noses with the other. Gohan hardly struggled, swallowing his screams when the fingers loosened slightly. "I really ought to just kill you here. After all, in how many ways can a son fail his father so terribly?"

Gohan suddenly just stopped, laying beneath the other. Mirai winced, knowing just how deeply that comment must have cut.

"Maybe," Trunks grinned, rubbing his nose sweetly against the other's cheek. "Maybe if you'd have just been enough, he wouldn't have left in the first place. Maybe if you had just been strong enough, he would have wanted to stay and train with you. But you weren't a challenge, were you Gohan? You weren't anything but one big fucking mistake he was only too happy to run away from. Tell me, my beautiful lie..."

Trunks nuzzled Gohan's neck kindly, though his words were like pouring acid into a salt covered wound.

"How fucking horrible of a son do you have to be," Trunks grinned. "For your own father to choose death rather than being with you?"

Gohan let out a chilling sob, laying his face to the side as Trunks affectionately kissed his exposed throat. Mirai moved forward as an instinctual reaction, wanting so badly to defend the broken warrior. As it was, the tears leaked down crimson cracks on the morbidly beautiful face, burning as the salt stung the wounds.

"You blame me so much Gohan," Trunks sighed, tracing his soft fingertips over the bloody gashes on Gohans face and neck. "But maybe, just maybe if you had been there for your father when ChiChi died, he wouldn't have had to come to me for..." Gohan cringed, closing his eyes to Trunks' smirk. "Consolation."

Mirai felt suddenly ill, shooting a cold look towards his companion who obviously ignored it.

"Everyone loves me Gohan," The younger Saiyan laughed. "Even your little brother loves me more than you. Tell me Gohan, I'm curious. If I'm such a fucking soulless monster... then what does that make of you? Hm?" He didn't wait for a response, laughing in Gohan's ear as his victim just stared to the side. "Maybe because I don't lie like you do Gohan." He continued. "Maybe because I don't pretend, because I don't live a borrowed facade of a life. Listen to me Gohan, and listen for whatever reasons you need. But stop lying."

Mirai swallowed hard, watching Gohan's face closely.

"Stop lying to me, stop lying to them." Trunks' face was suddenly very serious. "But mostly... stop lying to yourself."

Gohan's body was suddenly hurled through the air, connecting with the base of a large rock mass. Ki binds shot out from Trunks' fingers, grasping the older man around the wrists, ankles and throat. Gohan struggled at first, teeth grinding against one another as he fought against the burning force fields that held him painfully in place. The scent of burning flesh once more permeated the air, the skin on Gohan's throat and wrists steaming as the ki binds burned.

"Oh, stop your fidgeting," Trunks scowled, pacing with his hands behind his back. His eyes traced every line and bulge on Gohan's entire body unapologetically, his lips forming his father's trademark grin. "I know you can't REALLY mind the Ki binds Gohan," He taunted. "After all, they seemed to have been a favorite of your father's."

Gohan once more flailed this way and that, fighting to no avail as he cursed through his teeth.

"Yes," Trunks laughed, lifting his face to the sky with his eyes closed. "How he would just love it when I'd bind his wrists to his ankles, bending him over and fucking him for hours. Your dear pop, my God Gohan," He grinned deliciously, moving closer and holding Gohan's face in his hands. "The shit that came out of your father's mouth when I'd cum all over his back or chest. Ohhh Gohan," He shook his head. "The places he liked me to aim..."

"Fuck you you pansy ass piece of shit," Gohan spat, heaving saliva right into Trunks' right eye.

Trunks wiped it off with hardly the least amount of care, grinning up at Gohan.

"Yet another thing you and the old man have in common," He smirked, going up and whispering in the older Saiyan's ear. "Neither one of you likes to swallow."

"Trunks," Gohan warned, eyes fuming. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted in frustration. "I swear to you when I get out of this..."

"And who says you ever will?" Trunks laughed cruelly. "Maybe I like you this way. A toy for my own sick little fantasies, the star of my own bondage pornos. And I doubt anyone will really even come looking for you, will they pet? Face the facts my precious, you serve more purpose THIS way than you have your entire waste of a life."

"You..." Gohan tried to shake his head, choking when the bind clutched his throat even tighter. "Fucking monster."

"As I said before," Trunks paced yet again, eyes never leaving Gohan's. "If I'm the hated monster, what does that make of you? Afterall, wouldn't you say every family member you have has at one point chosen to be with me over giving two shits what you think about it? Or were you so naive as to figure Goten was the only one?"

"W-what do you mean?" Gohan asked, finally not struggling.

"Please, beautiful Son," Trunks laughed with little humor. "Your father was just waiting for the right opportunity to collapse to his knees. The times we would train together, the way that he would touch me just a little longer before finishing out the attack. The way he would remark so often how "uncanny" it was... the resemblance between me and my gorgeous father. And everyone knows that your daddy lusted after mine with the horniness of a virginal schoolboy, trotting after my father as though there were an invisible leash caught around his neck. Only his small allegiance to you and his wife kept his most primal instincts at bay, but apparently, you guys just weren't enough, were you?

"You know Gohan," Trunks walked a little closer, forcing the other to struggle somewhat, testing the bounds of the binds. "I told your father once that what we were doing would crush you. Right before I unleashed a load right into his face, I promised him you would find out, one way or another. You know what he said? You know what your invincible hero concluded right as I blew one right onto his chin? That you were a big boy Gohan."

Trunks suddenly tore one finger right up the front of Gohan's shirt, the bruised skin beneath exposed to the hot air.

"I'm curious just how big he meant," Trunks laughed.

His eyes scanned every inch of exposed skin, his pink tongue darting out to lick his lips in sick anticipation. Eyes gleaming like that of a wild cat approaching its' prey, Trunks moved dangerously close to Gohan, his hot breath carressing the naked skin of the crucified warrior.

"Trunks, I swear to God," Gohan hissed, moving as far away as he could when Trunks' teeth grazed the flesh of his throat. It seemed for an instant Gohan closed his eyes, letting himself for but a moment fall into the seduction as hot breath massaged the tender skin stretched over his muscular, corded neck.

"Ohhhh,... what Gohan?" Trunks smirked against the sensitive skin, fingers slowly tracing lines around the impressive pectorals and collar bone. "The rest of your family seems to like it just fine. Even your little momma."

Mirai's eyes widened, darting over to stare at his companion.

"What?!" Gohan choked out, yanking away.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Trunks pulled back, laughing hysterically at getting the exact reaction he wanted. "You really are just as pathetic and thick as your daddy. Ah but loneliness can be such a burden. Especially for an undersexed shrew like your mom Gohan. All those times when you were away, all those times when "daddy dearest" was out saving anything else but his own family.. all the times when Goten had crashed out upstairs; who do you think took care of dear ol' mom? Who do you think she would move closer to as we watched tv? Who's hand did she push inside her thighs, rubbing that tender, sweet little vagina against my wrist, just begging me to fill up that hungry little cunt of hers?"

Gohan looked like he was about to wretch, searching Trunks' eyes desperately, praying that he would find deceit in them. He suddenly just hung his head, Mirai understanding that despite the attempts, Gohan's search for that crucial deception had come back with nothing. Trunks wasnt' lying at all.

"Awww.. " Trunks mock cried, watching fresh tears spill down Gohan's cheeks. "isn't that just SO sad! I thought you might have noticed that every time I spent the night I left with my fingers smelling like week old tuna."

"STOP!" Gohan bawled suddenly, chest heaving as he cried. "Why are you telling me this?!"

"Because you need to understand it Gohan," Trunks laughed, patting Gohan's soggy cheek. "Your family loves me more than they even do you. For all your lies, for all your pleasant facades, they ALL prefer the monster to the animated puppet. And that's all you are isn't it? A moving, breathing thing with no real intention of directing itself. A mannequin that once and while likes to pretend it's a REAL boy!"

He threw his head back again, letting the cold laughter chill Gohan's skin.

"But I knew the truth all along," Trunks smiled, pushing his fingers through the back of Gohan's hair compassionately. "I knew that precious pretty boy Gohan was nothing more than a steaming closet fag from the day his testicles dropped. Oohhhh we know the truth DON'T we?!" He suddenly tore Gohan's head back with his fingers entrapped in the thick blonde hair, a cry escaping the older man. "Ohhhh WE know what the beauitiful eldest son dreams of at night, fucking himself, digging his fingers so hard up inside. Probing that sweet, virginal little prostate!"

Trunks tongue snaked itself across the blood wound on Gohan's cheek, making the other wince in pleasure and pain. Gohan tried ferouciously to yank away from the fingers that held his hair, his throat completely exposed to Trunks' painful kisses.

"We know that the great hero's son," The younger Saiyan continued mercilessly. "is not only a flaming faggot but a fucking shameless COWARD of one!"

He imitated Gohan, sobbing falsely.

"Awww! But wouldn't poor little mumsy be so upset to know her little boy craved the cock even more so than she did?!" He bawled.

"You sick fuck," Gohan sobbed, arms etched with veins as he tried his damndest to get loose.

"Funny that your mom never complained," Trunks kissed Gohan's cheek softly. "I never heard anything more than a peep while I kneeled in front of the couch, licking from side to side. She would just watch the stairs, making sure neither one of her precious little boys would walk in on her, legs spread with my chin in between. Tell me Gohan," Trunks pressed his face painfully against Gohan's, meshing their skin together before he spoke words that seemed to stop the earth around them completely. "Don't you think it's odd that your mom's pussy was as cold as a frozen sardine can even BEFORE she died?"

"Jesus CHRIST!" Mirai cried out, throwing his head down in nausea. "What the FUCK is WRONG with you!?"

Trunks presently rolled his eyes, watching the scene dully.

"It's just part of the game Mirai," He said with hardly a sideways glance. "It's the way of the world. Sometimes you have to destroy before you can create."

Gohan had since let out a hoarse cry, hanging his head in defeat. He just sobbed for a moment, chin on his chest as he cried out all of his frustrations, blood running down his fingers as his nails dug into his palms. His body shook from uncontrollable rage, his wrists bleeding as he desperately tried to free himself. Trunks meanwhile just sat back and watched his victim, arms crossed over his chest.

"You couldn't save her," Trunks said softly, Gohan's red rimmed eyes moving upwards to rest upon him. "You can fake until the day you die. You can watch your entire world around you and everyone you love in it believe that you're something you're not. But your lies couldn't save her life Gohan. Your lies can't bring her back. Your lies never stopped your dad or your brother from coming to me. So really, of what use are they? You use this masquerade as a form of control, a way to mold everything around you. But don't you see? It's damn near cost you everything to uphold it. You missed out on so many opportunities to be closer to the ones you love because they never knew the real you in the first place. You can't get close to a built up wall Gohan. You just can't."

The cruelty had completely left Trunks, the logical side overtaking the young man. The biting, harsh words were suddenly calm and for but an instant, Mirai almost wished for their return. Because as hard, as cold and as bruising as what he spoke was, the cruellest part was.. that it was entirely correct.

"You borrowed your dad's identity because you were afraid of your own. Gohan, you say I'm the monster..." Trunks finally shook his head in shame. "Your mother lived and your mother died without one word of HONESTY from you. You let her go, missing and saying her goodbyes to a complete stranger. So call me the monster. Blame me for every way that your world isn't perfectly controllable anymore. But just try to remember that if everything about YOU was so God damn perfect... why did they turn to the well known monster? Face it Gohan and listen to me carefully when I say this." Trunks stepped forward calmly. "Who is the better man? Me or you. Because you? Your entire life you've lied both to everyone around you and to yourself but me? I was always the honest asshole and I was loved FOR that. I never lied, I never cheated, I never pretended for people to be around me. People didn't ever flock to me because I gave them some fantastical version of me. I gave them the raw truth, ugly and unsatisfying as it is. So why did they choose ME over you?"


	21. Chapter 21

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Trunks cooly dug his bloodied hand into his pocket, yanking out a crushed pack of cigarettes. He impudently shoved his fingers into the box, yanking out a smashed cigarette that no sooner toppled over, collapsed in half.

"Oh nice," Trunks spat out curtly, waving the broken loosey in front of Gohan's face. "Good job asshole."

He growled, tearing off the filter and lighting one end with a burst of ki. He inhaled deeply on the harsh smoke, staring ruthlessly at Gohan. The smoke lingered in front of his piercing eyes, seeping out of his mouth in a thin gray line. He offered a drag to Gohan, who was still in the crucifixion-pose against the side of the mountain. He merely glared at it, inching away in disgust.

"Get that shit out of my face," He snapped.

Trunks just shrugged, taking another drag and pacing. Gohan glared at him, his eyes following every cat-like movement.

"So," Trunks breathed out another thick line of smoke. "you're in love with Mirai..."

Gohan growled deep in his throat, still trying to yank his hands out of the binds that ruthlessly held them tighter with every movement he made.

"Would that be a yes or a no, caveman?" Trunks grinned wildly.

"Ohhh..." Gohan hissed, shaking his head. "Fuck what you think you know about that, you little pissant!"

"Fuck what I think I know?" Trunks laughed. "Ha! Fuck what you think YOU know about Mirai. As far as I've ever heard, he never even gave you the time of day, did he Gohan? And yet still, your useless obsession lingers. It's really beyond me, yet so obvious. And here all along I knew you stared at me, watching me, gazing just a little too long at my face. All this time," He chuckled, moving up closer to slide his hands down Gohan's exposed stomach and chest. "I thought you were just staring at me for different reasons. Well, not TOO different eh?"

Gohan shut his eyes, feeling the fingernails of his enemy slowly glide along his stomach, moving seductively over his abdominal muscles.

"Trunks," he said somewhat calmly. "I'm serious now. Let me go."

"Why?" The smirking mouth asked, Trunks moving back slightly to gaze at his captive. "I think I rather like you this way. Though I am puzzled as to what exactly you think Mirai would ever see in you."

Gohan faced away, dried tear tracks still on his cheeks.

"You're inheritly beautiful, that's obvious enough," The lavender haired Saiyan nodded to himself. "In fact, you're ruggedly gorgeous Gohan. A little mixture of your father and mother. Handsome as he is and yet just slightly androgynous thanks to your little momma. It's quite the captivating mixture, that's for sure. In fact," He moved closer, a devilish look gracing his features. "I've often placed you in my little fantasies Gohan."

He grabbed Gohan's face, harshly clutching the bleeding cheeks in his hand. Smiling sadistically, he forcefully licked the dark haired man's entire right side of his face, loving it when he cringed in both pleasure and pain.

"To be more specific," He whispered. "I've often placed you exactly like this. My fascinating little toy, my pretty little puppet."

Gohan just yanked away, appalled by Trunks.

"It amazes me," The dark haired Saiyan spat in a voice laced with disgust. "How different you are from him. How much two lives can vary a person. Tell me Trunks, now that we're playing psychiatrist, what the hell happened to make you like this? How can the same person be a courageous hero in one life and a fucking sniveling, cowardly faggot in another?!"

He was answered by his face horridly slapped in one direction and smacked the other way only a moment later.

"That's one," Trunks warned, pointing his finger. "And since you think you know Mirai oh-so-well Gohan, where is he? Hm?" He gazed around. "Your flawless hero, your fucking perfect superstar? Where is he if he wants you so much? If you're exactly what he desires, as you so pathetically strive to be, where is he?!"

Gohan just snarled, righting himself from the slaps he'd just received.

"You've dedicated your entire existence to being the perfect person for him to return to," Trunks grinned wolfishly. "You've lied your way into an identity that isn't even yours. Yet, still he stays gone. He probably hasn't even given you the least amount of thought; just the petty little boy he left long ago and didn't even say goodbye to. While you'll spend the rest of your miserable life pawning after his memory, you don't even EXIST in his. So maybe you're right," Trunks nuzzled Gohan's face, holding it in his hands. "maybe he was flawless."

Gohan just wrinkled his face in anguish, catching a sob in his throat as he turned away. Trunks in the meantime smiled at his so-called victory, sitting nonchalantly on a rock and sucking down his cigarette.

"So let me tell you a story Gohan," He bent his head back aristocratically, blowing smoke into the air. "it's about a little boy, maybe... ehhh... eight or nine or so. And this little boy was adorable, almost beautiful in that nearly-man way. Big, trusting eyes, thick black hair. The full package. And this little boy had been trained by his tutor, not his father, but a tutor for the better portion of his lifetime. And yet, rather than long for the attentions of little girls or even little boys, our tiny hero instead, looked up at his tutor with not only big, trusting eyes, but a big fat boner from time to time as well."

"FUCK!" Gohan hissed, smashing his back against the rock to free himself. "You are so sick Trunks!"

"It gets better," Trunks threw his head back to laugh. "Who even knew a kid that age could tote around a rock hard one, is beyond me. And how precisely he could manage one after staring up at that hideous green face for so many hours, is truly one of those timeless 'unanswered questions of the universe'. But somehow," he gestured. "Our little hero, at SUCH a tender age, was jerking furiously hours after having been trained by his adorable Piccolo," He quickly covered his mouth, his horrible, smiling eyes grinning from behind his hands. "Oh oh! Opps!" he laughed. "Wasn't supposed to use names."

Gohan was in the meantime viciously tugging yet again, apparently on a never ending quest to free himself, though the victory at this point seemed less than likely.

"Ok ok!" Trunks was chuckling, leaning forward and holding his hands out. "Let's just say, for the sake of fun, that little boy's name was... hmm... Gohan! That's random enough, wouldn't you say pet?"

Gohan just continued pulling until blood was literally spurting all over his arms and fingers.

"So this little 'Gohan'," he made parenthesis with his fingers, his filter-less cigarette lodged in between. "was in love with his huge, green bean tutor, none other than the infamously ugly Piccolo! I have to say babe, your taste in clothing surely does reflect your taste in men! But this little Gohan was oh-so in love with his tutor, he actually forced himself to BELIEVE that he might stand a chance with the jolly green giant. So one day, a beautiful man from the future came to visit and stole little Gohan's heart away. Fearing that he'd never see the beautiful savior again, Gohan knew he must confess his undying love for his tutor, before the horrible happenings that the futuristic hero had pro-warned would occur. So gathering all his little hopes inside him, the little warrior TOLD Piccolo exactly how he felt.

"But rather than return that love, it seemed that from that day forth, Piccolo wouldn't even spend the time enough training with little Gohan. Or at least, he wouldn't unless Gohan's father was there to supervise."

Trunks stood slowly, walking towards Gohan who had since ceased his struggling and now just bared his fangs.

"At least, that's the rumor," Trunks closed his eyes, adjusting himself affectionately against the hard, suspended body. "but we know the truth, don't we little puppet? We know that it wasn't Piccolo's choice to end your little relationship. After all, it was clear to anyone that despite his fatherly affections toward you, there was much more protectiveness in Piccolo than simple paternal instinct. No, the real killer was seeing Piccolo naked for the first time... wasn't it?"

Gohan just swallowed, inching far away from the warm body that embraced him.

"You had him exactly where you wanted, didn't you?" Trunks smiled. "You kissed him, he sucked you, all the pretty things that might be a thousand times prettier if they didn't involve a green faced pedophile and a ten year old. Aren't I right? Ain't those Saiyan genes a rough thing?"

Gohan just breathed harder, enough so that for a second, Mirai was sure he would pass out. Trunks blew smoke into his face, turning his back to the furious warrior.

"And kneeling between those hideous green thighs of his," He laughed. "I'll bet the last thing little Gohan expected to see was what couldn't even resemble a vagina. A big space of nothingness for an asexual being."

He doubled over in laughter, clutching his stomach as he simply roared with it.

"I've seen some crazy shit in my life Gohan," He laughed. "but that... that could turn me straight!"

Gohan just let his head fall down in shame. He let out a sad sigh, swallowing back tears.

"But wait wait wait!" Trunks put his hands out. "There can't be tears! Why, I haven't even finished the story yet!"

Mirai had to glance over once more at the current Trunks' reaction, sighing himself when he noticed that still, there wasn't one.

"So, rather than falling to pieces, Gohan focused all his little energies into training with his daddy. Why.." Trunks grinned. "He was only too happy to jump at the chance to train with his own father for a year alone, all tucked away with just him in a room filled with nothing but space and time. It's ok Gohan," He nuzzled the warrior once more, taking a drag off the short cigarette. "I don't blame you at all. I've been wanting to stick it to my daddy for a LONG time now."

Gohan just clinched his hands into tight fists.

"But hard as Gohan tried to forget his little instincts," Trunks continued. "And despite how often he told himself it was wrong, he STILL thought of that beautiful warrior that was merely waiting outside for him. Even his father's incredible good looks and notoriously naked body couldn't tame the thriving, pulsating need to touch that gorgeous savior, the beautiful Christ-like hero that waited outside the room for his return. Ah yes, the flawless Mirai that could do nothing wrong. The calculating hero of my every bed-time story, a constant reminder of how I could FUCKING FAIL IF I wasn't EXACTLY LIKE HIM!"

Mirai stepped backwards, blown away by how completely volatile Trunks had instantly become, his cigarette harshly flicked to the side.

"Because GOD KNOWS!" Trunks was suddenly screaming, gesturing wildly. "If I had been anything less than what perfect fucking Mirai was, then no one would possibly love me. Because GOD KNOWS, that if I couldn't ever possibly reach that unachievable status, I was LESS than what my potential was. And every time I ever made a fucking choice of my own, it 'wasn't Mirai's'. And if I ever thought something that people didn't like, it wasn't how 'Mirai would think or feel' . I was a constant fucking failure because I wasn't exactly what people were so sure I'd grow up to be. I was given this perfect mold and expected to MAGICALLY be exactly like him from the day I was born. Fuck who I wanted to be or the choices I wanted to make. Because they NEVER would have been Mirai's!"

Even Gohan had to lift his head backwards, just staring in confusion as Trunks threw his hands this way and that, voice scratchy with its pitch. He was now just panting, eyes wild and angry. It was the first time in a long time that actual feeling had made its way over Trunks stoic features and Mirai had to just gawk at the immense change. Sensing his outward transformation, Trunks was all too quick to right the situation and calm himself, sleazily sliding his body along Gohan's.

"Sorry," He breathed sweetly. "This story isn't about me though, is it? It's about our little Gohan, finally falling in love with the immaculate Mirai... Not ONLY because Mirai was especially beautiful. Not ONLY because Mirai was the savior of the day. Not only because Mirai was ALWAYS the conquering, flawless hero of the story. But because Mirai had that one thing that our adoring walking cucumber Piccolo could never give you."

His hand slowly ran down the long, rippled torso. Gohan glanced down nervously, moving what he could but unable to shake the hand smoothing further and further along, gliding over his treasure trail.

"That one thing that your tutor could never teach you about," Trunks smiled sadistically, moving his fingers to toy with Gohan's zipper. "yet the one thing you longed for with every breath you ever took."

His hand suddenly grasped Gohan's penis right outside his pants, a quick in take of air cutting through the silence as Gohan just gawked in horror.

"A nice," Trunks smirked wickedly, his eyes closed as he nuzzled his forehead against Gohan's cheek, teeth shinning. "Thick, fat fucking cock wrapped right around his thigh."

His hand was groping the hardening appendage fiercely, no doubt causing pain yet inflicting blinding pleasure as Gohan's eyes rolled back. His head fell against the rock base, his throat open for Trunks' biting kisses. Trunks indulged in the invitation, tracing the tip of his tongue all the way from Gohan's exposed collar bone to the side of his face. His fingers in an inspiring display, moved with finely honed expertise, pushing just hard enough; applying pressure to all the right places on Gohan's fast extending cock.

And then, with a furious groan, Gohan's hand ripped its way from one of the ki binds, his fingers closing around Trunks' throat. Trunks hadn't even had the time to cry out, his esophagus on the verge of being crushed as Gohan's fingers slowly bruised the tender flesh and closed around his windpipe. Gohan was merely staring, teeth to the point of cracking in his mouth as he ground them together, cheeks shaking with his fury. His eyes were infuriated, burning with hatred as he dared himself to do the exact thing he'd promised himself he'd come here for.

Trunks wasn't even trying to gasp for air, just staring back with the same hatred burning like blue fire in his own gaze.

"Do it..." He managed to barely choke out. "Fucking ... kill...me."

Gohan grit his teeth together even harder, feeling chunks of porcelain grind to the point of shattering.

"Kill him." Trunks spat with his last bit of air, his hands red as he grasped Gohan's fingers.

Suddenly Gohan tore Trunks forewarned, viciously smashing their mouths together in a violent, bloody kiss. Crimson poured out through the sides of their mouths as Gohan ripped their heads this way and that, tongues colliding painfully. Teeth ground together as eyes winced in pain, breathing coming forth in desperate pants. Gohan still held Trunks' throat horrendously tight, the other Saiyan's fingers wound and digging into the sides of his wounded cheeks.

They both suddenly tore backwards, lips blackened and blue, swollen as they gasped for air, just staring at one another. They swallowed down the saliva and blood both at the same time, just gazing in lust and infatuation with each other. The pure drive for sex was intoxicating, their primal instincts demanding that savage release that only they could supply for one another. Like liquid euphoria pumping through each vein, the mind set on one simple idea. Sex. Cruel, heartless, detached sex.

Trunks ripped the ki bind off Gohan's left hand, the spark of energy flaring sideways and exploding into a massive fire that roared to life instantaneously. He collided with Gohan's body, soaring into the stone base which erupted in a mass of flying rock shards and dust, both spraying around them as Gohan's binds shattered from his feet. The mountain came falling down around them as their lips met once more in a horrifying display of what could not even be considered affection, hands exploring shamelessly.

Trunks kneeled upwards, legs pinning Gohan down as energy erupted from his back and arms, shooting upwards and turning the entire rock mass into dust around them. It poured around their bodies like fire, burning hot to the touch, scorching their clothes. Still they attacked one another ruthlessly, Trunks' fingernails leaving bloody red traces down the beautiful, muscular stomach. He yanked away, his fingers digging into that perfect torso, marking the soft, creamy flesh with violence.

He pinned Gohan down, choking him with one hand as he dreadfully slowly led his tongue downwards, his teeth tearing off buttons as he licked the bloodied flesh. Gohan's body moved upwards as the tip slid slowly along his skin. The skill-full tongue moved ever downward, a trail of saliva leading all the way towards the thin treasure trail and the top of Gohan's jeans.

Trunks moved upwards, never leaving eye-contact with Gohan who stayed submissive for the moment, heaving with desperation. He forcefully yanked Gohan's belt until it came loose, tearing it upwards until it spun around his torso and came free in Trunks' hand. Leaning down, he viciously slapped it across Gohan's mangled cheeks, staring with a challenging glare.

"Are you going to be a good boy puppet?" He whispered in a cold voice.

He was savagely thrown down, pinned beneath the older Saiyan's weight.

"Never." Gohan promised, hand gliding through Trunks' hair and tugging it painfully backwards to expose the bruised throat. "Never."

He ground his teeth against the jugular vein, piercing the skin and gnawing away at the torn flesh. Trunks just gasped, staring upwards as his blood was spilled and sucked from his body in the most sexual experience he'd ever encountered, his body lifting and falling in response. He let out a choked cry of pleasure as he was mauled by sharp fangs, Gohan's fingers holding him steady, clutching his neck tightly.

Gohan finally yanked away, Trunks' own blood spilling down from his lips, splashing on the pale, beautiful face beneath. Gohan's eyes were alight with pleasure and madness, teeth crimson stained as he gasped for air, trying to pry his teeth away from the victim that smiled wistfully up at him. Trunks' fingers wound around the back of his head, yanking him downwards in a kiss, sharing the blood that was still left in his mouth, drinking their sadistic fill of each other.

Gohan pulled away first, eyes gleaming as he refused to leave contact with Trunks, moving steadily downwards. He tore open the expensive black shirt, admiring for only a second the gorgeous, tanned body hidden beneath before attacking it with harsh bites and kisses. Trunks let his head fall backwards in bliss, arching slightly when hot breath came around the crotch area of his khaki pants. He tilted his throat back, hearing and feeling the vibration of a zipper being pulled downwards and a button being flicked off.

He gasped slightly, opening his eyes as Gohan bravely yanked his cock free of his boxers, his hot, panting breath covering it like a thousand sweet kisses. He gazed through clouded eyes downwards as Gohan stared almost innocently upwards, the only indication of his crueler side a nasty smile tugging at his lips when he dipped them directly over the tip. The taste of creamy pre-cum and salty skin erupted in between his lips, Gohan closing his eyes in ecstasy when he seductively wrapped his tongue over it, lapping at the very top of Trunks' cock, holding the rest in a tight fist.

Trunks let out a gasp, staring downwards in a fog when Gohan pushed his mouth over the head, hot, wetness enveloping him completely. The tongue remained where it was, causing a perfect friction between slippery, inner lips and itself. He arched upwards when he was completely taken in, Gohan's face digging into his lap. He could feel where his tip met the back of the other's throat, the tonsils making room as he was deep-throated entirely, a moan of ecstasy breaking forth from his mouth. He dug his fingers into the black hair, forcefully pushing downwards and yanking upwards, savagely controlling every movement.

He finally just thrashed himself backwards, fingers digging into the rock and debris beneath him. His crimson stained fingertips broke stone into his hands, tracing up his bare torso and threading through his own hair as he breathed desperately in complete, victorious bliss. He stared upwards, lips parted as he partook in every movement of the other, letting himself just lie there as the soaking wet mouth dipped over his body and sucked upwards until he felt like he was floating.

Blood and saliva coated his appendage as Gohan gave him one of the greatest blowjobs he'd ever encountered, the euphoria collapsing all thought. He simply felt rather than consciously dwelt, delving into the pleasure until it nearly exploded around him. He caught Gohan, just before, tugging the other upwards by his chin and kissing him passionately before throwing him on his back and attacking his body.

"I'm going to give you what he never did Gohan," He promised sensuously, breathing hotly over the bottom of Gohan's stomach. "You're going to love me more than you could ever love him."

He sweetly moved his fingers down the lower belly, the hot flesh almost shivering beneath his touch. His fingernails skimmed over the burning skin, his face dipping over the pants as his tongue expertly undid the button, the zipper removed as he put pressure on either side of it, exciting Gohan immensely and pulling the metal apart. He pulled the throbbing member from its place, letting it smooth over both sides of his face, teasing the owner as he traced it across his plump lips.

He forcefully licked the underside of the impressive sized appendage, drawing his tongue harshly upwards to the tip, getting a hoarse gasp from Gohan as he threw his head back. He kissed both sides of it tenderly, savoring the salty flavor in his mouth before swallowing it down. He sighed softly against the sensitive area, teasing relentlessly until Gohan was simply begging for it, smashing rock in his fist.

Without warning, he deep-throated Gohan's entire length, a cry of desperation his reward as he nearly swallowed it down, fresh pre-cum exploding against the roof of his mouth. He sucked ruthlessly, giving Gohan precisely what he wanted. A raw fuck; a savage, heartless indulgence in selfishness. He dipped lower and lower, nestling his face against the tiny pubic hairs that rested above Gohan's shaft, lying against the hot skin as he kept the thick, hard member in his mouth, letting it glide down his throat.

The thickness seemed to spread inside him, hoisting open his throat and filling every emptiness with hard, probing flesh. Gohan in the meantime was beyond ecstasy, if there is such a place, his fingers digging into the burnt ground beneath them and igniting each rock into cinders. Coals burned and crackled around them, the scent in the air of pure sex and sulfur, the smell of arousal and volcanic eruptions.

Trunks grinned wickedly, sensing that Gohan was close before biting down just enough to send the other over the edge, the pain and pleasure a mixture too much for the somewhat "virginal" victim. Cum spurted into his face, hot, wet, creamy whiteness pouring onto his chin and mouth. His lips were entirely covered with it, the thickness coating his face as he pulled his body over the other, eyes burning into Gohan's.

"Lick it off," He demanded. "Taste what he could never give you."

Gohan closed his eyes in suddenly shame, swallowing before connecting mouths with the monster, tasting himself all over the plump lips. He licked the outer rim of Trunks' mouth, letting the tangy, thick liquid drain into his mouth before swallowing it down. He hoisted himself up, Trunks straddling him. He held the younger Saiyan's face as he did the unthinkable, tonguing away the remainder of his sin.

Trunks pushed back the remainder of his shirt, his fingers sliding over Gohan's soft, rippled shoulders as he freed the clothing from them. Their mouths once more attached in a compassionate embrace, Trunks resting his body over the other's, kissing down his throat and chin.

"M..." Gohan breathed, eyes half lidded as he gazed upwards. "Mirai..."

Trunks pulled back instantly, staring in fury at the mere mention of that name. Before either could register it, he had ripped both their bodies through the air, smashing Gohan against the side of another mountain, the water fall drenching both of them as rocks sprayed around their heated bodies. Falling water soaked their smooth skin, beading until it fell for what seemed like miles beneath. What remained of their clothing was drenched, their hair limp, framing their faces. Trunks was enraged, panting in his anger as he held Gohan harshly.

Gohan suddenly just grinned back, unaffected by the passionate display, throwing Trunks' hold off his arms. He rudely pushed the other backwards, challenging him with gleaming eyes.

"What now, brat prince?" He smirked, blinking when water poured into his eyes.

Trunks smiled back, placing both his hands on either side of Gohan's head before moving himself in between, letting the raging water rain down upon them both as they kissed beneath its bruising pressure. Trunks let his tattered shirt fall prey to its rage, Gohan slowly pushing it off his shoulders and watching it fall stories beneath them. He gazed down Trunks' tan, sculpted body, letting his fingertips curiously graze the finely toned muscles of his chest and stomach. The skin beneath his fingers felt like silk and solidified cream, cooled only by the pouring water that fell all around them.

"God," He breathed against Trunks' lips, closing his eyes into a kiss. "You're so beautiful."

Trunks merely cocked his head to this side, grinning wildly.

"I know," he breathed, roaming his hands down Gohan's shoulders, moving them along the long, sculpted arms.

He held the other's hands for a moment gazing into the other eyes in a brief, kind manner.

"You're amazing," He whispered, barely enough for the other to hear. "You're everything I ever wanted Got... Gohan."

Ignoring his own slight slip up, he yanked the other towards him, kissing Gohan passionately. The water whisked away all mistakes, all regrets as they held each other almost too hard beneath it, their arms locked painfully around the other's body. It was almost desperation that kept them locked that way, their mouths completely in-tune to each other, eyes shut tight as they indulged in this very short lived sweetness.

Mirai cringed when Trunks yanked backwards, landing a cruel, solid hit, a punch straight across Gohan's face that threw his body straight into the ground beneath. Soggy soil and muddy water sprayed everywhere, Gohan's body slapping into it. He emerged, cold gaze glaring upwards as Trunks slowly levitated down towards him, smile never masked. He threw his arms open wide as he reached the ground, daring the other to run towards him, opening his defenses for any sort of attack.

"Come to me Gohan," He smiled, lifting his head.

The other complied only slightly, moving within a few inches, body dripping with mud and water. His hair laid over his eyes, the dark, cool gaze beneath them, promising anything but what Trunks thought he could domesticate. Nothing like the pet or puppet, but a real, thriving, violent individual, unwilling to fall beneath the pressure of whatever desire the other Saiyan could produce in him.

Trunks let his intimidating look dwindle slightly, letting his arms fall over Gohan's shoulders before pulling the other into his wet, bare body in an embrace.

"Let me be with you," He breathed into the other's ear, kissing his wet neck tenderly. "I want to be inside you."

His features were suddenly masked with innocence, his eyes lightening, his eyebrows tilting only slightly upwards. Every deviance, every volatile scheme or plan was erased and his features resembled Mirai with a flawlessness that could make his own mother glance twice. Gohan pulled back slightly, staring into the eyes of one he had fallen for so many times before that, unable and unwilling to let himself believe what his body so desperately wanted to buy.

"See me as you see him," Trunks pleaded, never losing his facade. "Love me, be with me, as you would with him. How close will you ever come again Gohan?"

He traced his fingers down the breathing torso as he had a hundred times, appreciating all the rare, perfect beauty that the blood line contained.

"He's your dream," Trunks whispered. "I'm your reality."

With those words spoken, Gohan fiercely grabbed him, throwing both their bodies into the ground, rocks and jagged pieces of stone digging their way into Trunks' back. Blood and sex filtered into the air as they attacked one another once more, furiously beating the other for dominance, punches and hits demanding their way. Gohan swatted Trunks' face sideways, blood and granite teeth filling his mouth. He spit it out, molars and shards of porcelain landing next to him as he glared with a grin upwards, knocking Gohan mercilessly off of him.

Ruthlessly, he landed upon the other's body, finally tearing off any remainder of clothing that served as a hindrance, staring in appreciation at the naked body beneath him. He took a few moments, gazing down at what only a God could provide, and perhaps the only proof thereof; a gorgeous creation with flawless angles and smooth, white skin coating them.

"You take my breath away," He breathed before capturing the lips beneath him, letting Gohan burn away the remainder of his clothing. For a second, the monster inside calmed, and he let himself be taken in by the moment, his eyes closing as he dreamt for a second about the one that constantly inspired, him, his muse for life's existence at all. The velvety, delicate kiss lasted for only a second longer, both bestowing feathery touches along the other's arms.

And then, digging what was left of his fingertips into the remains of his pants, Trunks withdrew a heavily lubricated condom, tearing at the wrapper with his teeth. He handed the condom to Gohan in an authoritive fashion, his eyes fogged over with lust.

"Put it on me." He demanded, leaning over Gohan who remained on the bottom. Gohan stared at him in slight confusion before obeying, apparently playing the submissive role for the moment. He grasped the back of Trunks' head when he'd finally rolled the condom completely over the shaft, kissing him deeply as the other pushed him down to the ground.

"I won't lie to you Gohan," Trunks breathed heavily, fully erect as he positioned himself over the other. "This is going to fucking hurt."

Gohan simply nodded, rather than nervous or afraid, glaring upwards with a challenging smile.

"Good." He leaned up and decked Trunks one more time for good measure. "MAKE it fucking hurt."

Trunks grit his teeth, smile entirely wiped from his features as he slowly glided his way in, never loosing eye-contact with Gohan. Sweat instantly beaded on the darker Saiyan's brow, the sound of teeth grinding to bite back pain heard through the cackling of flames and the cracking of thunder overhead. His arms began to shake as he slightly held himself suspended by them, suddenly just collapsing backwards with a gasp of pain.

He threw his head straight up, his throat exposed as he gasped in anguish, Trunks never having stopped his ascent. He continued to glide in to the very hilt, his entire shaft buried deep inside the squirming body. Gohan just breathed feverishly upwards, eyes closed as he coughed in pain through his teeth, nearly crying from it. His face had visibly paled, his frame shaking and every muscle and vein perfectly discernable underneath his skin. Trunks moved upwards, never pulling himself out or making any other movements with that regard. He simply let Gohan's body adjust to the pain, accept it, welcome it even.

He glided his hard torso over Gohan sensually, their compact muscles and skin meshing as he lay over him. He curiously kissed Gohan's throat and collar bone, kindly giving him just a moment before pulling back and gliding in once more. His movements were expertise, very slow and gentle, yet never wavering from their course. Each tauntingly slow approach and withdrawal pressed harder and further inside Gohan's body, making him instantly erect when they probed that, indeed, virginal place inside.

Gohan slowly let his head relax, gazing upwards in surprise and desire as Trunks just kept moving. Each thrust took him to new levels of excitement he didn't even realize existed. Each pound against his prostate answered questions he'd asked yet raised so many thousand others. It was as though every movement was a step into another world or dimension; and everything in that world was glowing, foggy and absolutely beautiful.

Tears formed in his eyes as he realized he'd kept them open too long, the world misty and whimsical. Trunks just continued to gaze long after they both should have blinked, his eyes, as well, glazed over with the magic. He moved up and down, kissing Gohan deeply as they wrapped their arms around one another, riding waves of astounding pleasure and pain. He would sometimes nuzzle the other's cheek affectionately, whispering promises that only Mirai would have given, never Trunks. He buried his face in Gohan's throat, kissing and biting tenderly, the perfect actor for a role that Trunks would never have chosen to play had there been any alternative.

"You should have been an actor," Mirai said in disgust, having moved away from Trunks since they'd begun to watch this.

"I know," the other answered plainly.

Suddenly Trunks had grabbed Gohan's legs, hoisting them over his elbows and kneeling before turbulently pounding into Gohan. The other gasped in excitement and agony, Gohan's mouth partially hanging open as he was brutally fucked beyond even his dirtiest fantasies. The movements were murderously painful, yet Trunks paid no attention, doubling his efforts when Gohan cried out. The earth beneath them was vibrating and rocking with the force, rocks levitating upwards and bursting midair.

"S-stop," Gohan insisted, placing his hand on Trunks' shoulder.

The facade of Mirai was quickly melted and Trunks' eyes burned fiery and icy at the same time. The transformation, as wounding as it was and as quickly it had come on, was replaced by a sneer of detachment that was almost worse.

"You said you wanted it to hurt," He spat through his teeth, yanking Gohan's body down until his legs were over Trunks' shoulders. He bent himself forward, smacking his body fiercely against the other's, drilling inside him torturously. "Learn to love it."

Gohan's cries became panted moans as he took Trunks' entire length into his body, his head flailing back and forth from both his suffering and the undeniable gratification. Yes, it was everything he'd ever wanted. Yes, it was the type of sex he could never have had with his wife or anyone else for that matter. Yes, in a sense, it was with the one person that was a constant desire in his mind. Yet in that same fact, he knew he was deceiving himself; and at the same time, he didn't care.

"I said STOP!" He commanded, landing a solid uppercut to Trunks' chin, hurling him catapulting backwards. The younger Saiyan caught himself midair, falling to the ground and landing in a catlike, prowling stance.

Gohan cringed when Trunks attacked him, both their bodies soaring through the air until he found himself face-planted into the rocks of a mountain. Dizzy with shock, he pulled his head backwards, tiny pieces of bloody flesh still clinging to the stone base. Trunks was holding him tightly from behind, face planted against face as he locked Gohan's arms behind him.

"What pretty puppet," He breathed in a voice that positively dripped sexuality. "Did you think I'd go easy on you forever? Did you think I'd be Mirai for you? Play that perfect, boyscout role?"

His icy laugh was low and sour, Gohan closing his eyes as he winced. Trunks' wet hair cooled his cheek, the other's sweet, biting kisses drinking down beads of water from his neck and shoulder. Gohan shivered beneath the hot and cold touches, letting his head sink back onto Trunks' shoulder as he let the desire pulsate and sweep away all lingering sanity. His long lashes flickered as the kisses sank deeper, sharp teeth between velvety lips sinking into cooled skin. Crimson dilluted rain drops were kissed away by thick, warm lips, occasionally sliding down his back. Sharp canines rubbed against raw flesh, the friction releasing blood that pooled only to be sucked away.

A pent up breath released itself into the flame scorched air, Gohan's deep, black eyes peering upwards in bliss. Trunks released his victim's arms, sliding his fingers and palms along the lower belly of the other Saiyan. Water droplets were swept away with soothing touches that ignited new fires of arousal. He calmly reached around, mouth never leaving Gohan's throat as he began to jerk the other off, excruciatingly slow. His pointer finger traced tiny circles around the head of Gohan's cock, gliding torturously slow down the shaft until precum was leaking down the paved trail as well.

Gohan's breath had become a sporadic gasp, his eyelids fluttering as he moaned, dipping his head down and gripping the rock base with his hands.

"Fuck me," He whispered, letting his head once more fall back against Trunks. "Make me love you."

He looked backwards suddenly, connecting eyes with Trunks who kissed him passionately, wrapping his fingers around Gohan's chin before the other pulled away, never losing eye contact.

"Make me fall Trunks," He whispered before turning away and bracing himself. "Make me fall."

Needing no further encouragement, a crude smile wrapped its way around Trunks' features, his hand guiding himself as he once more pushed upwards inside Gohan. A pained hiss was his only response and he quickly began yanking backwards and delving upwards at a ferocious pace. Muscle and fragile tissue tore and made way for his girth as he merciless dug against the ever precious prostate. Despite the agonizing groans from the other, Trunks' body only continued its perilous movements, gathering speed as he pounded flesh against flesh, rocking both their bodies upwards.

Rock crumbled and shook, dust falling over their sweat drenched bodies as they only seemed to climb to entirely different levels of arousal. Their lips shook with the heated, panted breaths, their bodies quivering as physically, they levitated upwards, their power levels fluctuating violently and pushing their natural bodies upwards. Spiritually, they broke the boundaries of their own sexual levels, their physical bodies only catching up as they broke the bounds of gravity and levitated through the air. All laws and potentially "unbreakable" bounds of physical science and gravity were shattered as they were both suspended by their heated excitement, Trunks wrapping both arms around Gohan as he sank himself upwards, digging painfully against the prostate until Gohan was nearly screaming through his teeth for release.

Yanking Gohan's hair backwards, Trunks sank his elongated teeth once more into the sweat-drenched throat, tasting the salt and copper of blood as it filled his mouth. Gohan violently shook, releasing a hoarse cry that vibrated beneath Trunks' canines as it burst through his windpipe. He tore his teeth from the quivering throat, bits of bleeding flesh ripped and clinging to his teeth as he dug his mouth against Gohan's, letting the fresh blood pour into the others mouth, like liquid sex shared between them.

Both teeter-tottered on the very verge of explosive, orgasmic release, the end so close they could taste it in their feverish, hostile kiss. Teeth snagged against tongue and gum, bitter blood swallowed down as Trunks tore his body upwards, fingers' gathering in Gohan's hair. Before Gohan could even register conscious thought, Trunks had ripped him backwards, tossing him upside down by his hair and landing him on his hands and knees on the ground. Dust and sand ground into his knees as Trunks held him by his hair, grinding into him savagely.

His fingers left blue and yellow stains as they bruised the areas of Gohan's skin that they touched, holding onto him as he fucked him brutally. Gohan's head was knocked back and forth as he was thrown and then tugged against Trunks' painfully erect cock. It jammed inside of his body, burning flames of blind lust and carnal need. All humanity was thrust to the wind and pure animalistic desire had overwhelmed all basic thought. Gohan arched his back, taking in the pain and furious pumping. Skin meshed and smacked against skin as all that could be heard was cries of pleasure and painful friction.

Trunks leaned back, gasping for air as Gohan's muscles clutched around him, squeezing until his eyes rolled backwards. It was almost too much, almost a painful awareness that he needed to cum and quickly, before being lost entirely to a world of dizzying and almost fatal pleasure. Gohan suddenly knocked him backwards, his body collapsing on the ground before as quickly, being straddle.

He gazed upwards through the fog of overwhelming desire, watching as Gohan slowly sat over him, sliding downwards over his cock. He felt the wounded flesh and bleeding tissue envelope him once more, the head of his shaft bright red with the blood that flowed over it. Gohan's hands glided down over his body, the skin almost too hot to touch as stray drops of sweat sizzled and evaporated off it. Trunks desperately grasped Gohan's hips, lifting his lower body upwards and pistoning into the tight, hot heat that embraced him.

Fires burned rapidly around them, the air dry and hot; the flames dangerously close as still burning ashes and hot cinders scattered over their bodies. The sky rolled with black clouds, threatening to burst. Yet they cared nothing for the lightening that struck overhead, nor the cracking thunder that followed. And despite the sizzling burns that constantly tortured them from the flames, their bodies moved perfectly in-tune as they deliriously strove for that final completion.

Gohan rode over Trunks' body rapidly, their breathing and panted gasps coming at the exact same time. Within seconds, their eyes connected, knowing that final explosion, that final euphoric orgasm lay within but a few more fiery movements. Gohan collapsed his body over Trunks, drawing in an enormous breath before it broke over them like an atomic bomb. Cum burst deep inside Gohan, nearly breaking through the condom as Trunks cried out horrendously. Gohan was beside himself in delirium, seaman spraying over Trunks' stomach and chest before he collapsed over him completely, letting it soak and dry against their skin as they held one another.

Their breaths didn't calm for what seemed like hours, their arms locked tightly over each other as they quaked with the orgasm, riding its euphoric waves that made their very skin shake; their nerve systems almost overloaded by it. Every nerve ending, every cell, every last inch of skin was shivering with it, their toes numb and their lips paled. Trunks was the first to open his eyes, gazing upwards as the sun had finally cut through the dark, rolling clouds, low in the sky that seemed scorched with fires.

His eyes gazed over a land that had once been fertile and lush, thriving with life. Now, what was once untouched by the pollution of man was soiled and ruined, fires and destruction covering the land. What once had been undeniably beautiful was thrashed and desolate, a place worth pitying rather than any sort of admiration. Even the land they now lay on was scorched and tired, raw with destruction.

The sun, as quickly as it had peeped behind the thunderous clouds, was covered by them and with a crack of lightening, the sky itself seemed to fall. Hordes of raindrops landed around them, fat and cold. Fires sizzled out, fog and steam rising all around them.

Wet warmth met his chest and he suddenly glanced down in confusion, Gohan's face buried against him. The strong, corded shoulders were shaking, covered with freezing cold raindrops that puddled and slid down his smooth skin. Trunks lifted his body slightly upwards, facing contorting with confusion when it became obvious that Gohan... was crying.

"I'm sorry," Gohan was bawling, his fingers curled and clenched on Trunks' chest. His entire body was spasming with grief. "God... I'm so... so sorry."

His tear drenched face was laced with only agony, no trace of challenge or sexual desire left. The illusion had faded and what was left on the last quake of orgasm had been the cold realization of reality itself. What once had been virginal and beautiful, like the land itself... was now ruined. The ideal perfection, however fake... was now flawed.

Gohan bawled relentlessly, sobbing as though someone, a certain someone, could hear.

"Forgive me!" He screamed, voice raw. "God... I'm so so sorry!"

Trunks just growled in disgust, his eyes betraying the slightest amount of confusion and perhaps even regret as he put his hands on Gohan's shoulders.

"Get..." he stuttered, swallowing hard. "Get off me."

He violently hauled Gohan's quaking body off his, tossing the other in the burnt dirt and sand. He threw his legs into what remained of his pants, which wasn't much, gazing harshly down at the other. Disgust and detached pity filled his face before he rolled his eyes.

"And here I thought we were making progress Gohan," He growled cruelly, kicking the other in the side as he gazed down in anger. His lips curled upwards, eyes shaking with rage. "You fucking pitiful mess."

He spat a large amount of saliva into the dirt, grabbing Gohan's hair viciously and grinding it into his spit. Gohan refused to fight back, just sobbing uncontrollably as Trunks pushed his face harshly into the ground.

"God damn loser," He spat once more upon Gohan, adding a mean kick to the already broken ribs before tossing a senzu bean to the ground. "He's not coming back. You'll never see him again."

Gohan just continued to cry, rolling into a ball and shaking with the intensity of his tears. He clutched the sand and dirt in his fist, grinding it in his agony.

"And..." Trunks swallowed hard, biting back something that Mirai could almost decipher as what might have been pain. "And even if he were to come back now... what would he return to but one big used up, tired out piece of trash. A broken little dolly. Ain't that right... puppet?"

Without another word or even a backwards glance, he took to the sky, leaving Gohan behind to cry out his sorrows; naked and unheard, in a scorched, ruined place.

Mirai looked over at Trunks as the scenery suddenly dramatically changed, the memory shaky and perverted with what must have been the influence of drugs. Where there had been trees and sky and rain and fire, there was now personified blackness that took on a life of its own, growing around them like vines. The world itself was sketchy and vibrant with unique colors that had no real place in a vivid memory, shades of light that the physical world doesn't naturally contain.

Shadows scratched along the walls, moving of their own accord as though one were looking through the eyes of an acid trip, things moving but not, objects taking life, yet dead. Tiles stretched beneath their feet, dancing and vibrating around them. Shower tiles and curtains spread towards their right, a large mirror coming into focus as Mirai and Trunks watched the memory Trunks stand unmoving before it. It was a bathroom, obviously one from Capsule Corp and there Trunks' drug diluted body stood quivering and dizzied before mirror.

His eyes were red lidded, skin patched with reds and blacks and yellows and blues. It was obvious that he had already eaten the senzu bean, his more dramatic wounds held and broken bones knit within the smooth skin. Yet Trunks leaned forwards, wavering over the vomit covered sink, staring at his reflection with no emotion whatsoever on his features. Mirai had to question Trunks, asking where exactly they were and what memory it was they were reliving. Receiving only a confused expression, Mirai cringed in horror, watching as the Trunks from memory smiled at his own reflection...

Before digging his fingers into the wound directly over his heart; the exact same wound that only hours later, Gohan had inflicted.

b A/N... Thank you to all who reviewed! I've been noticing we're a tad low on them lately and I'm sure that's to be expected with people not being in school and in their routines.. so I want to really say that they're very appreciated if you have time. Hope you enjoyed this chapter hahaha you have NO idea the hell I went through to get it out.. (my comp crashed when I was JUST about done and before I'd had time to save.. so yeah, hell). So thanks for reading! /b 


	22. Chapter 22

4906 182

Trunks sat on the bed, back facing the rest of the room as he stared at the wall. Not seeing; just staring. His gaze never wavered, never moved from one position to dwell over another. Just a basic stare into the epitome of nothingness. His face told nothing of the storm that raged behind his eyes, speaking and betraying nothing of the novels that could write themselves if only given a glimpse into his turbid thoughts. His lips were swollen and reddened, held in a slight pout as he just stared at the off-white wall.

He swallowed hard, choking back the bile and dryness in his throat. A shaky sigh made its way from him, his hands tightly clasped together as he thought. Thought about what? He didn't really know. A thousand things that he'd refused so long to think about that now that he was faced with them... it was overwhelming. He thought about the difference in his memory, the voids and spaces he'd chosen to erase. He thought about the cruel things he'd said, the way he'd been so proud at the time to speak in that uncouth, taboo way that so often rewarded him with shock. And now all the things he'd thought, all the pride he'd had... it was obsolete.

Nothing was beautiful anymore. Nothing was fresh or pretty or sexy or light. It was like he walked through a world of shadows, touching everything and watching through stoic eyes as it crumbled, turned to ashes. Like a perpetual world of black, white and gray.

But his memories had been safe. They had kept him alive. Or so he had imagined. Yet when they failed him now, what was there to cling to? His entire life was memories of better times than that. It was how he dealt with the world he'd created; by knowing at some previous time, it'd been better.

He rested his face in his hands, letting his fingers crawl up through his hair as he just bent himself over and breathed. Gohan had been an enigma to him. A reward, a prize, a petty competition. But it wasn't until today that he'd even seen the man as a person, as a living being. He'd just been another conquest. A terrific fuck to be enjoyed and then passed along. He'd even so pathetically concluded that somehow, he'd helped Gohan by breaking his lies to pieces, by shattering that pitiful facade. A service for sure, a kindness.

But as he'd watched the man today, his eyes never misted over with insane lust, he'd seen the pain, the anguish and the haunting sadness in Gohan's eyes. Maybe he'd never wanted to see it before. And in that, he couldn't blame himself. Because in these moments, when for the first time in so long, he'd sat, unhindered by any drug, thinking about his mistakes and seeing them as such, he felt that maybe rather than Gohan, he was the puppet of his own design.

Things had been shown that day that he hadn't wanted Mirai to see, yet hadn't recalled them clearly enough until it was too late. The jealousy and bitterness that he so secretly harbored for much of his life, it'd been shown, thrown out for display. He shook his head, closing his eyes to the memories.

All the thousands upon thousands of times when Goten and him were children, sleeping in the same bed at ChiChi's house and BEGGING Gohan for a bedtime story. It wouldn't matter what story was told or the theme, Mirai was always the boundless hero. It was Goten's favorite tale to hear of how legendary Mirai had faced off against Cell, even when the unbeatable Vegeta had been thrown to the wayside. Yes, brave Mirai had accepted his fate, standing up against a perilously stronger being with pride and honor; fully prepared to die for his friends.

Goten would rant and rave about how lucky Trunks was, how unimaginable such a fate would be. Yet the timeless tales of the perfect Mirai were also constantly self defeating. When Trunks would fail at a subject, like math, it was unheard of. What was wrong with him? Everyone knew that MIRAI was terrific in all subjects. If he ever disobeyed, as was his nature, it was an insult not only to his parents, but to the young, flawless man that he was supposed to be. He was never enough! Good grades came and went and even when he thought for CERTAIN that he must have overwhelmed even the highest of expectations, while he MAY have lived up to the legend, he certainly would never surpass it.

It was as though all parts of his personality were instantaneously shaped to be that of a seventeen year old, battle hardened hero. Like he was never really supposed to be a child or make childlike decisions or mistakes.

So he rebelled. Sure, there was a lot more to it, a lot of time and pressure and pain that created within him the ultimate drive to purge away all emotion. There were enough failures and defeats and disappointments to push him towards the point of detachment. And there were a thousand other things that lead to it.

In sex though, he found himself. Because sex, as emotional and as euphoric as it was, could also be as insensitive and cold as bumping into a stranger on the street. Nymphomania was an orgasmic release, an excuse to hone his own skill of detachment. Because not everyone saw sex as unfeeling. Many people couldn't discern the real difference between fucking and making love. And through that, he'd had his first victims, watching their world destroyed as his own was selfishly erected. Maybe he wanted to harden them, to make them as cold as he was inside. Maybe he wanted to disappoint their expectations, as he'd been doing his entire life, deliberately or not.

But sex became one of his quickest and earliest drugs. His hobby, his sick little conquests. After a while, achieving it wasn't the greatest reward; after a while, the greatest part was when he'd watch them break, crumble and fall to pieces. And yet, maybe for their weakness, maybe for their ability to love and to throw themselves outward enough to BE breakable, he envied them. Because he wasn't brave enough. He'd accepted that. It takes courage to love, to at least try; and perhaps even more courage, to fail and try again.

And then the drugs had taken their spree over him, his only real emotional outlet the sputtered ramblings and induced confessions while under the influence. It was the only time he didn't feel ugly inside. Because drugs wouldn't allow ugliness. Everything was on fire, everything sparkled and glowed; even the ashes on the inside. He felt more alive with drugs, more beautiful, more justified in all his cruelty.

But Goten had paled even the most gorgeous of acid trips. Because there was no artificial happiness that turned to cold nausea in the morning and left you barfing blood into your toilet. There was no tell-tale bruising lines down your arms from a heroin needle, no deviated septum from too much cocaine. And the only hang over was when he'd realized that it was a life he couldn't live.. or more specifically, didn't deserve.

Goten.

He buried his eyes against his palms, his breathing becoming fluctuated as he sighed sorrowfully.

Who was the fool now? Who was the puppet now?

When all was said and done, when all things were written as they occurred... he was alone. When every conquest eventually came and went, when his numbers soared to the point of countless, he was alone. Eventually, he'd gotten completely what he wanted. He'd purged himself of caring and in that very ordeal, purged everyone else of caring about him.

"Hey kid," Vegeta said calmly from the door, having let himself into Trunks' house without need of invitation. Trunks just buried his face even more, embarrassed and ashamed suddenly that his father could see him like this. That the one person who probably could relate to his detachment would see him actually giving two shits for once. Ah but the bitter taste of yet another failure.

"You... ok?" Vegeta asked, setting down an overnight bag and moving over towards the bed. Instinctively, the Saiyan Prince kept his distance, Trunks inwardly cringing. Knowing he deserved it, knowing he really shouldn't care yet doing so all the same.

So he didn't even answer, rubbing his face as he just stared down at the floor, bent over in contemplation. Goku, as time had shown, was never the hardest of his conquests, surrendering even easier than he'd ever expected. Perhaps that was the point where whatever sense of ego Trunks had had was suddenly forgotten and he'd surrendered himself to ultimate selfishness, thinking that though others might not love him, he was certainly capable of supplying enough via himself. So when he'd realized the ultimate victory he had achieved, he never took a moment to understand how much he'd lost at the very same time.

It wasn't even until he'd seen his father that any regret or concern towards another person had registered. And it wasn't even until now that he finally really understood what he'd cost his father. While time in Goku's world was but one more second wasted not fighting, Vegeta's days with Bulma were numbered. Human disease and old age wore away at the shell of the undying spirit, Bulma's body quickly weakening with approaching death. Still, Vegeta stayed unstraying by her side. But what when she finally did surrender to the inevitable?

Then, Vegeta would ultimately be as alone as Trunks had made himself. And why? Because Trunks had so desperately needed his conquest.

"Somethings come up and.. I need to take off for a while," Vegeta said in a solemn voice, still standing over his son as he interrupted the wounding thoughts. "It's a trip I've been dreading for a while. But ... certain things have come to my attention and I know it's time now."

Trunks just nodded, refusing to look at his father, eyes darting away when the older Saiyan attempted eye-contact.

"That's great dad," he cleared his throat, glancing away. "When will you be back?"

Vegeta remained silent for a moment, watching his son contemplatively. His eyebrows slanted in confusion at the young man's strange, almost shameful behavior, making him wonder if he was on drugs yet again.

"I don't really know kid," He scoffed, turning around to walk out. "Just thought I needed to let you know before I took off. Lay off the blow Trunks."

With that he headed towards the door, his smooth movements making no sound over the wood floors as he walked over them. Trunks just continued to stare at his wall, doomed to once more be left to the barrage of sneering memories and shadows of thought. To be tormented with guilt because he'd refused so long to succumb to its guidance.

"Dad," he quickly called, never moving but sensing the energy of his father still in the room. Vegeta paused, turning towards Trunks' back.

"Yeah?" He asked, cocking his head to the side and wondering silently about the odd actions of his son.

"Dad, I'm..." Trunks started, dropping his head when he couldn't even summon enough strength to finish his thought. Vegeta knew his son well enough to move closer, coming towards the bed and sitting down next to Trunks who just shook his head in shame.

"Trunks," he breathed calmly, placing his hand hesitantly on the younger man's back. "What are you trying to say? What are you trying to tell me?"

Trunks stared forward, eyes shaky with what Vegeta could clearly see...were tears.

He moved backwards in shock, blinking to be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks in this dark lighting. Trunks dipped his head in shame once more, the back of his hand angrily wiping away at the offending tears. He covered his mouth, still refusing to look at his father, battling back emotions that came crashing down all around him.

"Dad," he breathed, voice shaky with sporadic feeling. "I am... so sorry."

Vegeta was still blinking in confusion, unable to come to grips with this unparallel surprise. It was entirely chaotic and unpredictable, the prince never having seen his son to the point of almost crying; at least not since a very young age. It had seemed for years as though Trunks didn't possess the power enough, or even the concern enough to cry. He waltzed through the world, sporting his nihilistic attitude like a trophy: now seemed to be in a constant battle with emotions Vegeta wasn't even aware he could contain.

"I'm so sorry that I..." Trunks sniffed, glaring at the wall through the beading tears that threatened to fall. "That I'm... not the son you wanted."

His lips curled downwards as he bit back a sob.

"That I .. couldn't be what you and mom dreamed I would be." he blinked repetitively. "I'm sorry if you look at me and only see all the ways you must have failed to have spawned this...this thing that I am." He choked. "And that I couldn't be Mirai even as hard as I tried for you."

Vegeta had remained silent, staring still in confusion.

"I wish I could take it back dad," He looked upwards, still biting back tears that despite his blinking, remained where they were. "I wish I could say enough sorries that ... that what I did with Goku would just be washed away by them. I know I hurt your feelings Vegeta, I know I failed you. I'm..."

He couldn't even continue, burying his face in his palms, bent over his knees as he fought away the tears relentlessly. He breathed hard, teeth clenched in anger with himself. Vegeta, in the meantime, was beside HIMSELF with shock, unable to believe the immense change that had taken place in Trunks. He looked down, lacing his fingers together as they shared a moment of silence, both lost in their own chaotic thoughts.

He had never really understood the extreme difference between Trunks and Mirai. In fact, he had never felt the need to compare them at all. Mirai's past was entirely unique from Trunks', thus, despite their genes, they were never bound to be the same person. In Trunks, Vegeta honestly saw more of himself than he EVER had in Mirai. Had it been Trunks that had come from the future, basking in his own sexuality and romping with whatever good looking people were in attendance, he would have known immediately that it was his son. Trunks reminded Vegeta constantly of himself at a young age. The boy was his father's son in almost every aspect.

Rather then display his bitterness towards weaker beings by simply destroying them, Trunks represented his power over others by different means. But it was power over others nonetheless.

"Trunks," He said calmly, placing his hand soothingly on the others back. His mouth twitched to the side and before he knew it, the dignified Prince nearly rolled off the bed, throwing his head backwards as he roared with laughter. Trunks just stared in horror as Vegeta bawled with it, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "Trunks you moron!"

Trunks had to crack a small smile, shaking his head in bewilderment at his father. The man was unpredictable. That was true.

"God kid," Vegeta rolled his eyes. "you never failed me!"

"I... didn't?" Trunks asked, staring in confusion.

"No!" Vegeta shook his head, still chuckling. "Trunks... you are PRECISELY as you ought to be. I never expected you to be anything other than who you are. And yeah, you do shitty things and yeah, you act like an asshole the majority of the time. But Trunks, I never set a bar for how I wanted you to be. I never had a mold I wanted you to fit in." He patted his son's back gently. "Kid, you should have seen ME at your age! You can't even imagine the kind of shit I pulled just for fun. You're growing up Trunks, you're going to make mistakes, you're going to be someone that not everyone approves of. But they're YOUR mistakes and YOU'RE.. MY son. As you are."

Trunks just continued to stare, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"But... I..." he breathed, shaking his head.

Vegeta just sighed, pulling Trunks against him in a rare hug, closing his eyes as he simply held his son. Trunks sighed sorrowfully against him, breathing like the weight of the entire world was set on his shoulders. It was amazing that his father could do this to him. He always had. The world could be bursting to dust around their feet, yet his father would choose that moment to erase away every pain with just one hug. One gesture could heal the heart of a breaking world. And it was a power only Vegeta had ever possessed over him.

"And as far as Kakarot goes," Vegeta now breathed, feeling Trunks tense in his arms. "Trunks...I love your mom."

The younger Saiyan pulled back in surprise, gulping loudly at this admission. It was rare for Vegeta to even talk this much in one setting, let alone mention anything so revealing about himself. Vegeta just shrugged.

"You live and you learn kiddo," He sighed. "You grow up. I love your mom. I do. I'm going to love her until the day she's gone.. and far beyond that. I belonged to her the first time I ever saw her and even when she's not on this earth, she's still going to be with me. I choose to be with her Trunks," He put his hand softly against Trunks' cheek. "Not because I have to be, not because it's the noble choice or what people want to see me do... but because I want to be."

Trunks nodded, looking downwards as he took everything in.

"Kid," Vegeta lifted his chin, smiling through kind eyes. "Me and Kakarot... well, that is a story for another day. But your mom and me... that's reality right now. How could I NOT love her Trunks? She gave me you."

Plump lips parted when Trunks' mouth fell open, his eyebrows turning upwards as he tried to grasp what his father had just told him.

"You know what I thought the first time I ever saw you?" Vegeta continued, unwilling to let his son's shock hinder him from something he knew needed to be said. "I thought of everything I'd ever done in life; all the revenge I took, all the challenges I let myself be absorbed in... all the useless, wasteful crap that had ultimately become my existence. And I held you one day when no one saw us, right in your old room...and I told you that of every thing I'd ever done..every good thing, every mistake.. you.." He patted Trunks' cheek. "YOU were the single greatest accomplishment of my entire life. And that has never once changed."

Fresh tears suddenly filled Trunks' eyes and for a moment, for just a passing second, he allowed two to course without interruption down his cheeks. He looked down, blushing slightly, biting his lip. Vegeta grinned, shaking his head as he patted Trunks' cheek once more before standing up.

"So stop trying to seek forgiveness from someone you don't need it from," He instructed. "Besides, we both know that that isn't what you need right now anyways."

Trunks looked upward in confusion, the entire day having been one big ball of emotional distress.

"What do you mean?"

Vegeta just grinned ever wider, walking towards the door and lifting up a bag he'd carried into the room.

"Maybe what you're searching for has been there all along," He shrugged, lifting the bag over his shoulder as he stood with his hand on the door frame. "You and me kid? We may not love easily.. but when we do, it's unceasingly. Maybe we even love stronger because we don't share it with many people. So maybe... just maybe.. the ones we do or the ones we HAVE..." He winked, walking out the door. "Are worth fighting for."

He flew over the miles of spacious wheat fields, casting no shadow as the sun beat down over him, flying at break neck speed. Wind coursed through Mirai's silky hair, his eyes closing for but a moment to smell the sweet scent of flowers and trees. How often as a child he'd taken for granted peaceful moments, yet had so few it seemed now. A lifetime spent in the last moments of one's life, you would think that even the smallest graces would have permanently burned themselves into his memory. But that's the funny thing about memories... you don't' get to always pick and choose what stays with you.

Sometimes, the things you think you could never possibly forget,.. you do. And the things that you don't want to stay with you from one day to another, walk beside you every step you take.

In these moments, as he stared down at the grass that fled beneath him, he recalled days when him and Gohan would train, their shadows soaring side by side over hills and trees and a thousand things that probably didn't even exist anymore.

i "Keep it up kiddo!" /i Gohan would laugh, sparking with energy as he flew past Mirai, racing the other. " i You can't give up now! You're so close!" /i 

Mirai closed his eyes to the memory. He really never had beaten the other. He'd never gotten the chance.

Today had been a cutting experience for both him and Trunks. Trunks, for having to relive the monstrosities he'd committed, and Mirai.. for so many other reasons. Seeing Gohan, had brought back so many memories. All bittersweet. Living on the brink of death from the day you're born, perhaps, even though young, he had learned quickly to appreciate some things.

Now as he flew at perilous paces, he thought of Gohan. No, not the clouded Gohan of this time, the poor, wretched creature that he had unfortunately allowed himself for many years to become. He thought of the Gohan he had long ago, at a young age, learned to love. No, it wasn't the all encompassing, obsessive love that he'd shown Trunks. It hadn't even been romantic really. It was love. Simple love.

Gohan had been his father, his brother, his only real male influence in life. He'd raised him, he'd coached him, he'd watched him since the day he was born. As Trunks had grown up with stories of Mirai, Mirai had been raised on the inspiring stories of his own father's, somewhat begrudging, heroics. The unbeatable Goku and ruthless, brave Saiyan Prince: rivals forced together for the good of mankind. Yet the story had never ended as reality had upheld. Because rather than admitting the haunting truth--that both had died long before their times; that both had met horrific, violent ends-- Gohan would almost instead, imply that they still lived.

He would smile down at Mirai, with his kind, wise eyes, putting his warm hand over the young boy's forehead. And then he would tell Mirai his favorite part of the story. That rather than choosing to finish off the monsters himself, Vegeta had chosen instead to unleash a secret weapon in the form of his own son. A son who would eventually grow to be the strongest of them and defeat the androids once and for all. As Mirai had been the constant hero in Trunk's fairytales, it was exactly the same in his childhood. He was the prodigy that would deliver the world into freedom.

" i You're going to show this world something they've never seen before /i ," Gohan had promised, when he'd thought Mirai had already drifted off one night, the room dark and shadowy as he knelt over the young boy's bed. " i And when you do... I'll be right there beside you Trunks. I promise." /i 

Mirai blinked sadly, swallowing hard. Promises weren't always what they used to be. And some promises, no matter how much one wants to keep them... can't always be upheld.

He winced away memories that he'd long since concluded could do him no real good. As Trunks' refused so often to deal with his present and the affects it had on others, Mirai refused to dwell on his past. So many memories, albeit a constant sore in his subconscious, he pressed far away from his mind. He couldn't relive them. Even now, as he felt the weight of these days on his body. Things were becoming harder, more heavy as he understood that he truly didn't belong here. What had been almost an experimental attempt had now hardened into a day to day struggle.

Time was taking its toll and he felt it now more constantly than ever.

He began to dwell on the difference between him and Trunks. How variable they seemed to the naked eye, yet in so many ways, weren't so opposite at all. Lifetimes had merely torn their personalities in two, sociologic theories more tested in their example then ever. Mirai had never known his father in his youth. And perhaps, in that sense, he'd never known his youth at all. Whatever person he had been destined to be was cut short by the prospect that he'd never grow at all. He'd been born into a world of constant, gnawing chaos.

Born a potential champion and thrown into shoes that never seemed to fit. Yet he'd forced himself to mold into the perfect hero, the flawless antidote for evil.

Inside? He felt like the ultimate Hemophiliac.

Like a walking, talking, moving wound. The kind that can't clot or heal yet repetitively feels as though it's seeping with blood.

Actively repressing your own memories can do that. Because everything, he realized in these minutes, manifests itself. Whether one chose to accept, to acknowledge, or expertise repress, every pain in childhood eventually sets one of the path of adulthood.

And now his path, it seemed, led him to the door of Gohan. A final meeting, he understood, yet detrimental to everything. If Gohan loved him, even now that their lifetimes had torn them apart, then it was worth saying a farewell. Because he knew now, as he closed his eyes to the warmth that built behind them, what it was like to not get your goodbyes.

Again, the ethereal face lay bound in the embrace of a book binding, the soft, dirty hair laying limp amongst the pages. Mirai wanted to just watch this for a moment, to sculpt this memory forever in his mind. His fingertips moved of their own accord, delicately lifting the strands of black hair. Yes, he closed his eyes, swallowing the moment. Don't forget this. Don't let this be like a dream, forgotten with time. Don't forget even a single moment.

The thin strands suddenly yanked away, Gohan's red rimmed eyes gazing upwards beneath them, understanding peering out from the depths that now were a much a part of Mirai as the sorrows he'd encountered in all his journeys. He smiled into those deep, syrupy eyes, having seen them every day of his life growing up. The soft gaze that had watched over him as days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months and months turned into the years of his young life. Mirai smiled back a tear, trying not to think of the day when he'd seen those beautiful eyes go cold, trying to swallow down the memory of saying goodbye to a person that couldn't say it back.

He ground his teeth together, turning away, trying to repress so many memories that could make him weak. Trying to beat back the weakness that always followed when he would accept the past for only a second.

The days when Gohan had been the only driving force in life, the only thing that kept him fighting. Days when he'd cried against that muscled chest, making his tutor promise that they'd seek the vengeance that they never really got. A thousand deaths had never brought Gohan back to him. Breaking the monsters that had stolen him away had never returned what had been lost. And if he had spent his entire lifetime fighting evil, it would never heal the seeping wound that had been inflicted that day.

He suddenly could remember the feeling of the cold ground against his knees, water seeping in what had suddenly felt like an empty body. He now could recall the feeling of emptiness, the perfect emptiness that sunk inside his entire being. And he could remember trying to understand, trying to accept why something like emptiness, the void of everything, could hurt so completely. He had just stared into those beautiful eyes, begging them to blink, begging them to move, to be sparkly again.

But they never had.

He closed his eyes, feeling a hot tear drip down towards his chin. Gohan just stared up at him silently, watching this display with slight confusion.

"I just sat there," Mirai suddenly sobbed, chest heaving sporadically. "I just sat there and begged you to get up."

He sobbed, closing his eyes as a never ending stream of hot tears drained out, his lips just bawling as he finally let go; letting old pains overwhelm him as though they were new.

"You wouldn't get up."

Gohan moved quickly to his side, not touching him, not comforting him at all but standing close nevertheless.

"You just laid there and..." Mirai looked upwards, trying to blink away the blurriness of the world. "You wouldn't get up."

His body convulsed as he closed his eyes again, remembering the day he had forced out of his memory so long ago. He recalled letting the rain and dirty puddles sink into his shirt as he'd laid down beside his fallen friend, wrapping the one arm around his body. He could remember wanting that body to provide heat, comfort that it couldn't give him anymore. He had buried his face into Gohan's neck, letting the emptiness overwhelm everything. Letting the understanding poison everything that Gohan had ever taught him.

Love, devotion, courage, strength... never giving up.

Mirai's bottom lip formed a sob as he held his arms around himself, reliving the very moment when he'd gone cold. When it was almost as though everything he'd ever been taught had died with Gohan, and his soul had gone along with him. So many years of believing the older Saiyan was invincible, that he was the one thing in the universe that couldn't be broken; the one person that wouldn't fall down and die. Life should have taught him that eventually, everyone goes away, but it was the harshest lesson he'd ever had to learn on his own.

He'd lain his face in the blurry puddle, his cheek and chin nearly covered by the cold, acidic water as he'd sobbed. Every memory came back, even ones that had escaped for so long. Times when Gohan would tell him stories of their fathers, of the battles they'd fought together. And every one had seemed pale in comparison to the war they fought every day. Maybe the grandest irony of all, was that Gohan had believed that the stories were what kept Mirai's courage alive.

" i Trunks, /i " He'd once whispered, as they had hid amongst the rubble of a fallen city, the androids scanning the wreckage for them. " i People live and people die. But just because we can't see them doesn't mean they aren't still there. Bodies can perish with time but a soul... a soul is never really gone. /i "

Mirai had been suddenly cradled in the great arms of his teacher, his face pressed protectively against the solid chest.

" i That is why we will always be greater than them /i ," Gohan had whispered, glancing upwards as he swallowed hard. " i Because we will live forever /i ."

It was in that puddle that Mirai had died and been reborn again. As the coldness of hypothermia had crept into his broken system, he had heard those words repeatedly. He had turned his face towards his friend, seeing that hours had dimmed the eyes, making them almost blue and foggy. He had curiously touched the soft skin of Gohan's cheek, bloated with death yet still beautiful.

He'd closed his eyes, his lips shaking with hypothermia; touching his forehead to cold, dead lips, embracing Gohan one last time. His love, his friend, his father, his everything.

" i Rest in peace my friend /i ," He had sobbed, holding back his tears bravely before he pulled away. " i You will live forever /i ."

That day a young boy had died in the arm of his greatest friend. And in his place, a cold, young man had arisen.

"We're not so different, are we Gohan," He laughed bitterly, choking back the tears. "We were both young men that fell in love with someone that went away without saying goodbye."

Gohan just scanned his face, his features concerned.

"I suppose," He nodded.

"I thought," Mirai struggled, looking at the ceiling. "I thought after Gohan died that... that I'd never be able to love anything again. And I was right."

Gohan just looked away, glancing anywhere but at Mirai. He gently gestured towards the chair, moving it for Mirai to sit.

"I understand now," He said slowly. "why you're here, what you're doing. I spoke with Vegeta about it and he's..." He looked downwards. "he going to go looking for you."

Mirai just nodded, wiping away the last of his tears as he righted himself.

"I also know that that means you don't have a lot of time left," He spoke softly, his kind eyes landing on the other. "So before you go, I need to tell you some things.. if only for my own closure."

He stood slowly, his tall, impressive frame hidden by a long, frayed jacket as he paced the room.

"I'm sorry that I never told you how I felt," Gohan began slowly. "I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough for you to see me or to understand me. I'm sorry that I didn't dispose of Cell quickly enough and that..." He swallowed. "That you died because of it. I'm sorry that I couldn't bring you back to life with how sorry I was. I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you how I felt, how much I loved you before you went. Because I think... maybe if I just had..." he choked up, turning shamefully away.

"I'm sorry that I slept with Trunks," He tried to right himself. "I'm sorry that soiled everything because I was selfish enough to fool myself into wanting THAT to be real. But it wasn't, not even at the time. I'm sorry that I pissed on your memory by ruining everything you stood for, by forgetting everything you'd taught me. I'm sorry that I've wasted my entire life since trying to be something and someone that I thought you would approve of. I'm sorry that I spent so much of my life believing that maybe, just maybe if I was so perfect, you might come back for me."

His voice broke and he swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry that I failed my wife and daughter so miserably so many times."

He turned suddenly, his eyes brimming with tears though his voice had not betrayed them.

"But I'm not sorry that I loved you," He said solemnly. "Because you made... every moment of my life worth living it."

He turned away once more, opening the blinds to the one small window in the room, gazing out.

"The others will understand soon enough," He said calmly, sniffing slightly. "so you don't have a lot of time. Teach him Mirai. Give him one more good example of love. Show him the pain, show him the sacrifice, but show him that it's well worth every single second. Because loving you? That has been my life's one big goal..." he shook his head. "And I don't see my life as any sort of failure."

Mirai nodded, though he knew Gohan couldn't see, watching the regal back of the other Saiyan. Gohan, for all his self neglect, would never be anything but beautiful, even if he tried. Again, Mirai had to remind himself to hold onto these moments, to cherish them, to burn them into memory for all time.

"You know," Gohan breathed softly, gazing upwards. "I used to trace the stars and see your face in them. I used to think that maybe, sometime throughout your life, you had seen the exact same ones as me. That maybe you'd looked up in the exact same way or stood in the exact same place. It made you closer to me.. it made the void of time and space so much smaller. But I don't think you were ever really gone from me, Mirai." He turned slightly, a small smile in his eyes. "You were in every good thing I ever did. You were every great accomplishment I ever achieved. You are in my daughter's eyes, you are in the sun and the sky and everything beautiful on this earth. And I thank you for giving me hope and a reason to keep going every day."

He came suddenly close to Mirai, gesturing for the other to stand. Mirai quickly came to his feet, staring upwards at the taller Saiyan.

"I know I don't deserve your kindness," Gohan swallowed hard, lips shaking. "I know that a thousand sorry's won't take back the things I've done or the people I've hurt in the process. But I'm asking for this last gesture, this last mercy." He gazed deeply into Mirai's eyes as Gohan's own were covered in tears.

"Be real for me," He sobbed suddenly, startling Mirai. "Be mine for just a moment."

Mirai nodded in understanding, closing his eyes as he embraced Gohan tightly, the hardness of his body enveloped by the strong, kind arms. He held tighter, both men resting their heads on the other's shoulder, faces buried in warm throats. The warm wetness soaked the soft skin of Mirai's throat, yet he held only firmer when Gohan's body began to convulse with his sobs. Gohan began to just bawl, his entire body shaking violently as Mirai held him close.

Mirai breathed hard, saying a farewell to his own memories. Holding onto the body of his fallen friend, alive and coursing with life. The irony that yes, Gohan had continued on and that this time, as they inevitably had to part... Mirai got to say his goodbye.

His fingers laced around the soft hair of Gohan's head, gently caressing the delicate strands.

"You..." Gohan sobbed. "You will never age for me."

Mirai hadn't even realized he was crying until he pulled back slightly, hot tears drenching his face.

"You will never be anything less than beautiful," Gohan breathed. "you will never be anything less than the person I fell in love with so long ago. And I will never regret a moment I spent, being with you in my dreams."

He swallowed hard, whispering beautiful words.

"Soar always on wings of angels Trunks...you were everything to me."

Mirai pulled back, suddenly forcing his mouth against Gohan's and passionately kissing him. Their lips locked in a timeless kiss, their tongues expressing what human words could never do justice. Lifetimes spent apart but complete in one moment in time where every sacrifice, every tear, every loss and every sadness was forgotten. Tears dried and breaths were lost as Gohan and Mirai shared the greatest kiss ever experienced by either one.

The moment held for but a little while longer, the two locked against each other as though they would never part. A moment in time seemingly perfect, when all in the world was put right for but a single passing second. And then, as all good things must, it came to an end, Mirai pulling back and gazing at Gohan before smiling softly.

"Perhaps in another life," He whispered. "Fate won't be so cruel and we can share many more of those."

Gohan smiled, pushing his mouth once more against the other's, breathing deeply before pulling back.

"Perhaps in the next," He nodded.

"But not soon," Mirai warned, squinting his eyes.

He looked backwards as he left, seeing the life and brightness so often reflected in the old Gohan's eyes, now beaming in the present version's. Like life had been breathed into the body that long ago had said it's goodbye to the earth as it lay, face against concrete and puddles. Like the softest kisses of a sobbing young boy had brought back his precious teacher, at least for a little bit longer.

Yes, burned for eternity into his memory, Mirai walked out the door, the sunset kissing his beautiful locks of hair as he left.

Gohan watched him leave, now fully awake as he sat once more at his lonely desk, surveying his surroundings. The door had closed, the sunlight now nothing more then thin, pink rays that occasionally stretched through the covered window. Dust particles danced around the room, the dim shadows once more embracing the tall being. Gohan traced his fingers over his lips, the remainder of Mirai's kiss like the powder of a butterfly's wing. He closed his eyes, leaning back as he simply breathed in the remainder of the moment, sighing contently as he gathered energy into the palm of his hand.

He recalled the beautiful face as he had seen it for the first time, ages ago. The kind, striking blue eyes that had filled him where a void must have been. Remembering the first time he'd heard that soft, deep voice, like the bells of angels in heaven; calming his soul and telling him that everything would be alright. That life, for all its hardships, every day was worth it--If only for the fact that every pain, every loss, every failure had led him up to this moment--had led up to the kiss that made it all worth while.

He once more touched his lips, savoring the kiss as he put his palm to his head.

"Yes," He breathed, closing his eyes with a smile. "Worth every second."

Mirai's eyes closed as well when he heard the blast, the sound of power entering and leaving a skull, the splash of blood and brains hitting a wall. He swallowed hard, letting the realization sink in. The cool breeze was suddenly warmed for but an instant, the rays of the sun kissing his skin for just a second before a cold wind swept them away.

"Rest in peace my friend," he whispered. "You will live forever."


	23. Chapter 23

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Grime covered fingers reached towards him, caressing his hair backwards as he sucked in the marijuana drenched air. Everything was so thick suddenly, the scent like heavy droplets of water trickling through his system. Every sense was out of wack, tangled together. Music was dancing before his eyes in grays and purples, Marijuana smoke seemed to trace sensual lines across his skin. 

Trunks tumbled to his back, letting resen stained fingers lace back the soft strands of his hair, carressing his scalp when he'd close his eyes. Hands were everywhere, tumbling over the material of his pants, between his thighs; gliding beneath his shirt. Women and men, "friends" from fair weather times before. Ahhh yes, when there was a free drug-reign at Trunks', it was simply amazing the new "friends" and old "acquaintances" he had.

Soft, feminine lips bowed down over him, an LSD soaked sugar cube between a beautiful woman's teeth as he took it into himself. One of a thousand, it seemed, this evening. A punch bowl was nearly overflowing with them, courtesy of his many dealer's compliance. Ahhh yes, one more final roll with happiness.

The thick carpet hugged the back of his head, the side of his face rolling against it as painted finger nails and teeth dug into his neck. Yes, he wanted to breathe the word. Yes, love him. Adore him. Give everything you have to be with him. Fall for the monster with the face of an angel.

The party raged, 80 floors above the ground in the posh, all glass building. His home away from home, an enormous penthouse suit at the very top of the skyscraper. The wind pounded outside, his not-so-keen-at-the-moment-senses feeling the slight nod of the building, the very vague push and sway of the floor. Every footstep vibrated, every breath inhaled was a sexual invitation.

God he loved it. 

God how this was his unjaded world, untainted with attachments. How he'd missed it! Pleading everything. Just one wink, one eye-contact was a sexual thrust against his arm or leg. Everything was an invitation to fuck, unhindered all over his floor with as many horny spectators as possible. His begging audience, screaming to witness just a taste of his sexual expertise.

Just to cram his way inside someone, who gives a fuck what they said or what face lingered beneath the tangled hair in his fist. Just to hear their panted breaths, a thousand pleas to go harder, to dig deeper inside tightened tissue. To throw his back in the ecstasy that a borrowed body could provide.

He tossed his face sideways, laughing with delirium as the world spun. Teeth bit into his left nipple, his head thrown backwards as he laughed hysterically. Eyes rolled up in his head as he bawled with it, fingers leaving red marks over his exposed stomach. Gender? What was gender? An orfice is an orfice last time he checked. Blood was blood and screams were screams regardless of what was attached to the genital area.

Hair laid over his face, his nose breathing in scents of lilac and earth. His lids flickered, lashes pulling apart to reveal red-rimmed, blood-shot eyes that stared at the quivering ceiling. He'd smelled that before.

Goten's face flashed before his eyes like a foul taste.

Like swallowing vomit, sour and cruel to the back of his throat. He cringed with it, hurling his body over to his side as he craddled his knees in his arms. Movement around him sent the air carressing his skin like a warm wind, his hair slightly flickering with each tiny rapture through unmoving molecules. His spine ached as fluid was tainted with the drugs he'd more or less crammed into his system without thought. His fingernails throbbed as he wrenched them through the thick carpeting, his chest screaming for air that didn't singe his lungs with more marijuana.

Goten.

How many times had Goten seen him... just like this? A rolled up ball of intoxication, a violent drug addict hollering for something, anything to carry him through the mess that a hang over could be. The fall from grace that could only be reduced by that which brought you up in the first place. How many times had Goten cradled him through the cold sweating hours of a heroin withdrawl, warm arms wrapped around a shaking form that couldn't even recall what true warmth was. And how many fucking lies? How many!? How many fucking lies had he spat out through pale lips, crying that he'd been drugged, swearing that some sociopathic shit had slipped an unknown substance into his drink---when the truth was always that numb fingertips had grasped the temptation and open lips had gulped it down without any hindrance?

"It's the last time," He'd promised a thousand times.

Yet always, kind brown eyes had followed the nodding of a head. Always the blind faith and always the whispered "I believe you's" that had sent him hurling over a toilet seat. His hair yanked backwards as bloody filth coated the insides, half the reason he'd cut it so short in the first place. Too many mornings awakening with sperm and chunky vomit coating his bangs, he'd insisted, after Goten's abscence, that it be trimmed as short as vanity would allow.

He crawled along the floor, his chin carpet-burned as he clammered forward, collapsing in a helpless mess. Concerned hands gropped unceasingly at his body, obscene fingers clawing along his partially erected shaft. How many times, he wondered, had he fallen, vulnerable in Goten's precense, yet never taken advantage of? How many times had he awoken to the angelic scent and ethereal warmth of his greatest and closest friend, holding him tightly as they awoke over shower tile; the only too often result of an overdose and a chilling cold shower.

But it wasn't always the naive kindness. Even the most heavenly forgiveness knew its limits.

Months into their relationship, he would awaken, crumpled into a ball on soaking wet pavement, Goten's face hardened from emotion as he peeled and wiped away dry seamen from Trunk's cheeks. Yet he wouldn't ask about it later, laying, spooned by Trunks on his side. Dark eyes would stare, unfeeling at the nearest wall, even when Trunks would nuzzle the back of his neck sensually, sober enough to desire the same thing he'd gotten probably three times already that night.

"Come on," Trunks would goad, sweet kisses trailed wetly down Goten's throat. His fingers would move away irritating clothing, tracing kisses over the exposed collarbone. "Give yourself to me Goten. Haven't I waited long enough love?"

Goten had just cringed away from the affection, letting himself mutely be taunted and arroused by Trunks feverishly hot body. Ki warmed fingertips soothed over his side, trickling over his abdomine before venturing downwards as he closed his eyes.

"Share yourself with me," Trunks had breathed, taking the tip of an earlop into his teeth.

"Like you share yourself with everyone?" Goten had spat hotly, swallowing down his anguish. "I swear Trunks..." he'd shaken his head. "With as much 'sharing' as you do, I'm honestly surprised there's enough of you here to be divied out."

That very night Trunks had followed drug after drug with alcohol, sweaping massive amounts of pills down his throat with the chug of a beer. The uppers and downers he'd mixed eventually slammed him with delerium, his so-called "friends" dumping him into his front lawn before hightailing it out the driveway, fearful he'd die and they'd somehow be caught up in it.

Between rolling nausea and mind-sweeping illusions and delirium, he'd found his way into the house, clambering against walls as if he'd never been in the place before. Warmth had hit his face, his nose gushing blood as he face planted into the carpet, front teeth knocked backwards with the jolt. He felt as though he were choking on coppery warmth, the pain nearly forgotten as the hot blood poured out of his mouth and guzzled in his throat. He could recall how isolated his tongue had felt, swimming in teeth and thick crimson, remembering how confused he was, staring down at the puddle of it that gushed everywhere when he'd coughed.

He'd just dug his fingers into the carpet, head held up as he gazed around the blankness, no idea who or where he was. Iron hard fingers came around his shoulders, hoisting him over Goten's lap as he struggled to no avail. He was choking on blood, strings of it dangling from his lips as he nearly vomited it all over Goten who now held him against his chest.

The heart beat beneath his ear was tumultuous, like that of a violently pounded drum against Goten's ribcage. It was rapid and the chest cavity rose and fell aggressively. His hands still slapped against Goten's arms and chest, deliriously trying to free himself from the confusion.

"Why?" He heard whispered through waves of insanity. "Why do you do this?"

Feeble gasps soon became uproarous sobs, salty wetness raining down on his brow as Goten had begun to cry.

"Weren't we... Weren't we happy?" Panted sobs came from between lips that grazed the top of his head, Trunks' face smashed against the heaving chest. "Weren't we happy once?"

Even now, Trunks buried his face against his arms, craddling his head between his elbows. The carpet grazed his forehead painfully as he dug it against the rough surface, trying to dull the emotional pain by inflicting physical. Concerned hands probed his body, yet he ignored the imploring members, recalling against his wishes the day... before the worst day of his life.

Fingers had wrenched his scalp raw, Goten's hands holding his head up to peer into glazed, enlarged pupils.

"Don't you love us more than this?" He had pleaded, tears puddling on his chin. "Don't you love ME more than this?" He sobbed, pulling Trunks' forehead to his lips. "Weren't we more to you?"

His face was once more smashed against Goten's chest, warm, wet skin of his neck meshing with Trunks' cheek. He seemed to just cry it out for a while, rocking them both back in forth with his sobs.

"Why couldn't I be your addiction Trunks?" He'd cried. "Am I less than a man because you're the only thing that sates me? You're my only drug Trunks. You know I'd die for you. I do every day."

Trunks could only recall being confused, in a world of it in fact. Panted words and the scent of salty tears swirled in colors around his head, his brain feeling as though it were bleeding into his eyes.

"You kill me with my love, Trunks. Everyday," He sobbed, "you kill me inside. You burn every fabric that craves you, yet somehow, I guess I beat on with this stupid idea that maybe..." he'd gasped, looking up. "maybe sometime you'll throw everything else away and need only me to feed this hunger. I die every day for you Trunks. And every day, these drugs make you dance on my grave.

"I keep this fucking dream in my head, thinking that maybe someday you're going to just cast everything else aside and that all your answers, all your hungers, whatever it is you're searching for, you're going to suddenly find in me. You're going to come home one day, look at me, and say 'you know what Goten,' " He'd sniffed, closing his eyes. "You're all I really need. I love you now and I'm going to every day after this. You set me free."

He'd pushed their foreheads together, crying out his exasperations, screaming away his anger and fear.

"But I don't set you free, do I little birdie?" he'd sighed, when all the tears and all the pain was finally just numbed by his crying. "I only keep you caged and clip your wings."

Trunks could now recall even then, that the confusion and waves of insanity had suddenly ebbed; his mind for a second clear of the multiple poisons. Truth and understanding had dawned on him and dull dread and painful acceptance crawled into the pit of his stomach. Despite the warm arms that still held him tightly... Goten was letting him go.

"I believe we were happy once." Soft lips had whispered against his forehead. "I believe that for a second in time, I was enough for you. But I also believe... " Goten choked up, grimacing before speaking the next words. "I believe that those times are...are gone now. You need to be free Trunks. You need to be free to fly my precious birdie. And me?"

There was a pained silence that seemed to wrap itself around both of them.

"I need to be free of you."

Trunks opened his eyes, glaring at the twisting ceiling above, the dirty hands beneath his shirt, touching him and reaching into his pants. He shuddered as fake fingernails traced the tiny hairs beneath his naval, a wet tongue sliding downwards as he arched his back to it. How could something that felt so good poison him like this? How could so many people, who confessed such undying obsession for him, be as ugly inside as trolls from fairytales, hiding beneath bridges?

Where Goten had never taken advantage of him, had never used his unconcious body for selfish purposes, he glanced from sets of eyes to other sets of eyes, sociopathic detachment meeting him from every one. If he died, would they mourn him? Would they even try to save him? No. His cold, bloated body would be found, stripped of his fine clothes, stripped of any loose cash, stripped of any dignity by the nicrophiliac that gazed hungrily at him from the corner. And they would never look back. They would take his money, his drugs, his every available belonging and they wouldn't look back. Not for an instant.

What was it in a drug that could make even the smoothest skin seem but a plastered mask, smeared over a hideous phantom beneath? What was it in drugs that made wonderful people into monsters, craving rat poisoning and liquid cleansers and doing damn near anything within their means to acquire them?

Yet now, he gazed around at these beautiful, painted-on faces and saw demons creeping beneath shimmering eyelids. The monsters that had cost him everything. The personified addiction, walking around as though they were people. But they weren't. He grit his teeth as sharp plastic skimmed his half-erected cock, the rotten drug addict just smiling in his face as she touched him with no need for permission.

How often had a woman just like this been in his bed only seconds before Goten had arrived? How often had he awoken, feeling the familiar power source within minutes from his home, ushering out a man or woman he hadn't even remembered being with?

Yet they'd never stopped him. They'd known his ...He closed his eyes. They'd been aware that in whatever sense, he loved Goten. That despite his drug-induced whispers of undying affection, Goten was the only one on his mind. Yet constantly, they called to him. Wanting more of whatever chemical sated them. Wanting more of his attention, his body, his money... whatever was the appetizer for the evening.

His eyes flew open with hatred.

They... had cost him... EVERYTHING.

He smiled sadistically, throwing his head backwards and arching his spine. His back left the ground, his head lazily falling down as he hoisted his body, levitating into the air. Cries of astonishment and fear raced through the air around him, his mouth laughing softly as he stretched his arms out, slowly twisting in circles as he levitated upwards. The hands had since removed themselves entirely from his body, wide eyes and open mouths staring up at him.

He laughed, reaching the ceiling and throwing his palms against it, gazing downwards at his silent audience. None of them moved, never having seen anything like this before. Heads shook as though trying to free themselves momentarily from the drugs that swore such a thing was possible, even when all other logic screamed otherwise.

"He... he can fly!" Someone cried out the obvious, pointing up at him.

His cruel laughter made goosebumps on bare arms, his blood shot eyes smiling as he crawled onto his back, sitting on the ceiling and smirking down at them.

"Yes, I can." He whispered menacingly. "In fact, you all can."

Blank stares and confusion met as a response, head turning towards one another in puzzlement. Whispered 'we cans?' filled the silence, eyes and lips parting in excitement.

"If he can fly, I'll bet we can fly too!" A deranged man chanted, riling the other LSD minds into his way of thinking. It was as though logic had elluded them all, their eyes gawking at the impossibility that their sober brains would have only made excuses for.

"That's right," Trunks goaded without conscience, eyes darting to a large, glass window. "Why, I'll bet you could all just fly right out that window.. just like I could."

All heads turned towards the enormous glass window, the night sky and stars tempting them even more so than Trunks' words could ever. Glittering stars spoke promises of super human strength and so they clambered towards it, the deranged man the first to chuck a chair through the thick glass. Wind blew sheets of paper this way and that, nearly strong enough to choke a person with lack of oxygen. Cold gusts wrecked perfect lines of cocaine over broken mirrors, credit cards flying off coffee tables. But even the chilling temperature couldn't stop them as they wandered ever closer to the sky that waited above.

Thin, lined arms, scathed with drug use, spread like wings of angels. Skin stained with patch-work decolorization, red-rimmed eyes reached towards the heavens, leaping, one after the other through the shards of glass. Maybe, Trunks wondered for a second, they knew what they were doing. Maybe belief in something wasn't all it was cracked out to be and what spurned them into freedom was the lack of control over anything else. They plunged to their deaths with smiles of bliss on their tired faces, arms out to the side as their bodies glided all the way to the concrete 80 floors beneath.

Maybe it was the only bit of happiness they'd had in years.

Maybe, as their bodies exploded against rock solid surface, they were more free than any drug had ever set them.

Maybe, Trunks for a second wanted to be with them.

He closed his eyes, alone now amongst a thousand syringes, a million pills and a lifetime supply of thoughts he wanted to purge from his mind. Wind gust like dead fingers through his short hair, his eyes closed tight as he felt the ceiling tilt against his fingers. The overdose was taking its toll, drugs he'd digested all too quickly registering throughout his poisoned system, counteracting with the thousand other things he'd tried to damn near kill himself with. Reality became morbid against his eyelids, blood and fur and tunnels to hell flashing in his mind until he could no longer contain the images, his eyes flashing open to reveal Mirai, glaring upwards at him.

"Mirai," He thought he heard someone breathe. "You're all... flickery...blurry flickery..."

Oh, it was his own voice.

His hair was torn downwards, Mirai's fingers tangled in the short threads as he gripped it and smashed Trunks against the floor, back first. Carpet and concrete clouded the air, the jolt nearly sending Trunks through two more floors. Horrifying rage covered the beautiful, passive features of Mirai's face, his steely grip dragging Trunks through room after room by his hair. The younger's feet scratched along the ground, screaming in irateness as he half crab-walked backwards, half was hauled like a naughty dog by its collar.

Tile hit his face as he was planted against it, yanked once more over a toilet seat and his entire head dunked into it. Cold, dirty water flooded his mouth and nose, his head shaking back and forth as he screamed in rage at this assault, bubbles from his screaming flying around his face. His head was torn backwards, Trunks gasping for air. Just as he'd nearly grasped the words enough to insult Mirai for this rotten treatment, he was met once more with the bottom of the toilet, nose held against the drain hole. His fingers desperately searched for the flush button, grasping it and holding it down against Mirai's better efforts. He gasped for air in a panic, nearly passing out when toilet water was sucked into his air passages.

Fingers went into his mouth, clogging the back of his throat until he barfed against them, vomit flooding into the refilling toilet bowl. Mirai detestably flicked the sour, chunky liquid off his fingers, smacking Trunks' back as he hurled up God knows what assortment of drugs against the porcelain.

"You're not going to kill yourself Trunks," He warned in a stone-cold voice. "you don't deserve that."

Trunks just continued to gag, dry heaving until Mirai almost wanted to throw-up himself.

"You WILL learn Trunks," He promised in a voice that almost imitated Vegeta's. "Whether you want to or not, you WILL learn."

Drearily, leather shoes clacked over smooth, polished marble, Trunks more or less dragged by Mirai as they stormed through the museum. People hardly paid the least amount of attention, though Trunks was certain he looked like a hung over mess, hair still matted with toilet water Mirai wouldn't let him wash out. He thanked God again that he'd cut it as short as he had, the length ensuring that his vomit didn't coat the already placid locks upon his head. He had to glare at Mirai, as there seemed nothing more to do, his anger paled only by the massive withdrawls he was suffering.

True, Mirai might have saved his life and true, there had been an almost suicidal undertone to his wreckless behavior but now, he simply felt like a child being punished and humiliated, hauled like luggage through the enormous museum. Only hours before had he even sobered up enough to stand, Mirai refusing to match eyes with him as he'd stumbled around the bathroom, trying (without help) to catch his footing.

Now, with no remorse or care to his condition, Mirai trucked them over flights of stairs and through passages he was almost certain they probably weren't even allowed to be in. Children from a highschool crowded around a teacher who was trying, (to probably no avail), to instill within them the necessities of history and its effect on present day. Most of the girls, spotting the two Trunks's grinned and gawked in appreciation, even a few of the boys smiling with approval.

Mirai simply ignored them, dragging Trunks along even as the other hesistated slightly, raising his eyebrow suggestively towards a handsome, jersey-totting student. Young children, probably no older than three or four years, yanked at their mother's skirt, pointing towards the two "twins" and giggling when Mirai finally let a tight smile grace his features.

"Kids seem to love you," Trunks teased, trying to lighten the mood as he saw no way out of this situation. '

Mirai merely gave him a glare, tearing them up four flights of stairs until glancing around before pushing open a "Do Not Enter" door. Trunks was tempted to make a crude comment, wanting to scorn the seemingly "angelic" version of himself, before chancing a look at Mirai's face and deciding against it. The other was on a mission of sorts, holding Trunks' hand as he darted through racks of books and cabinets littered with loose papers.

"Mirai," Trunks attempted to get his attention, as they filtered ultimately too fast through room after room. "Mirai, you're going too fast!"

He was rudely ignored as they passed through door ways that probably hadn't been opened in years, cobwebs and dust choking him as he pulled back from Mirai.

"Mirai!" He cried, yanking his hand away. The other turned on him, as if confused by the reluctance. "Mirai, you're just moving too fast for me. What's the hurry?"

The older man just stared at him, swallowing hard before hanging his head slightly.

"I don't have much time anymore Trunks," He whispered, sweat beading along his forehead as though he were exhausted. "Time, has never been on my side and I'm suffering it now more than ever. This story of ours," He looked deeply into Trunks' eyes. "it's coming to a close much more rapidly than I had anticipated."

Trunks felt a coldness dwelling within his stomach, his head nodding though he admittedly didn't understand.

"I have to show you a few more things before I..." He bit his lower lip. "before I have to go back."

"Go back?!" Trunks cried out, his anger and frustration with the other entirely forgotten. "What do you mean 'go back'? Go back to what? Your timeline?"

Mirai raised his hand against the other's demand, calmly requesting silence.

"Right now, that isn't important Trunks," He breathed quietly. "As I said, there isn't much time and things of this sort can be discussed later. But for now, there's something I need to show you."

Trunks scrunched his face in anger, breathing hard before nodding in agreement as he crossed his arms.

"I've shown you past, I've shown you present and I want to show you future," Mirai began. "I showed you your own past, that was Susan, your own broken personification of life. A tattered, wounded being that was destroyed.. as you were Trunks. Lying in your own pain and unable to register anything but numbness."

Trunks just remained silent, listening for once without recoiling into his own self defense.

"And then I showed you your present," Mirai spoke. "David, a monster isolated from everything. A monster seeking absolution from the world.. something he'd never attain, no matter how he finished off the means of his suffering. David, like you, bowed towards the quick fix. Praying within yourself that by hurting the means of your torment, Goten, you would somehow free yourself of his attachment, his control. But you became a slave to your own desperation, burning yourself as you sought to end the ties that bound you."

Trunks looked away, biting his tongue.

Mirai smiled knowingly, kindly raising a hand to Trunks' shoulder, guiding the other's attention back towards him.

"Now, I want to show you your future," He smiled. "I want to show you that love does exist. That it isn't something you just find in suffering, that it isn't something you obtain through a lifetime of cruelty. That despite its hardships or even obsessive misconceptions... it exists Trunks."

He looked upwards.

"It's in everything." he promised. "it's in every life, every hurt, every breath. It exists in you, whether or not you want it to or not. You told me so many times that love was just a human longing, an endless need for more reason to life. I need to now prove to you that its wrong. I need to show you that true love DOES exist. And so this will be my most powerful example of all."

He walked a few steps further, finding a large, dusty book, lined with a hundred others along a large book case. He filed through the pages with concentration, fingers flooding through thin material on the search for something. Trunks just watched with fascination, eyebrows squinting when Mirai let out an "ah hah!" before pulling out a thin stack of what appeared to be letters, ropped together with an impossibly old rubber band.

The pages were dirty and seemed almost singed or something, fraid along the edges and fragile. Trunks moved behind Mirai's broad back, trying to see what was written, though the ink was stained horribly in places.

"These will be found within a few years from now." Mirai breathed, eyes alight with the discovery. "It's amazing what things can be overlooked and forgotten. Yet, even in time, the message remains the same."

Trunks made a face, crossing his arms again.

"So what are they? What's this whole thing about?" He demanded impatiently.

Mirai just shook his head, eyes still alight with happiness at holding them.

"They're letters," He said, as though it weren't obvious. "Between a husband and a wife."

Trunks rolled his eyes rudely.

"How original," He gripped, taping his foot.

Mirai glanced up at him in shock and disgust, thrusting the frail papers against his chest.

"They were holocaust victims Trunks," he snapped, pushing the letters into the other's hands. "They were seperated into two different concentration camps. Why don't you read them before you pass judgement, brat prince? See what you think you know, concrete all of your own little theories... but read these, and we'll see whether or not each one of your logical conclusion shatters beneath you."

Trunks glared, grabbing up the letters and crossly sitting upon an old dusty bench before beginning.

i Dear Selig, /i (the first letter wrote) i 

It has been a month since you were stolen from my hands, the Nazis carrying me kicking and screaming to the train at which time I was flung into a cart like an animal, caged with many of our kind. Jews. There was a time when I was proud of my heritage, looking back through my family years with smiles and laughs. Now? It feels at times as though it were a curse.

Yet our love remains and our three children are doing well I've heard. Shahar is tending to his sisters, gathering extra food from me at times and seeing to it that they're well taken care of. We have been blessed, thus far it seems. Stories are being told that Auschwitz is a terrible camp. I say stories when I mean horror stories, Selig. That men and women are burned from the moment they arrive if not seen as suitable for hard labor.

These rumors poison my will to go on, yet a thought of you is the only immunity towards it. I could not live in a world without you, Selig. Today, as I rubbed my hands raw against the splinting wood of a hacksaw used in labor, I remembered the day we had sat with our legs crossed in the sand, drawing pictures for each other.

We will do that again.

Shayna /i 

Trunks looked up in confusion, goaded on silently by Mirai's eyes, insisting he continue.

i 

My dearest Shayna,

The stories you have heard are nothing more than crude rumor. We are fed well here and treated with much dignity and care. The sick are tended to by knowledgeable doctors and the well are given a low amount of labor. Do not fear for me Shayna, I am well. Tell Shahar to be strong and to hold the girls for me. We will be together again shortly I hear.

Selig

Selig,

It is hard to write letters when the candle light is low and the winter has come on strong. My hands are trembling from the cold and the amount of work that we endured today. I choose not to think of it as I labor long hours in the blistering cold. I think only of you, my love.

Recall the days, as I do, when we were younger. When you had chased me through the streets, begging me to marry you at the top of your lungs. I still remember laughing as you fell to your knees in the cobble stone street, soaking your trousers up to the thigh as you called me beautiful. Do you remember your words? "To you, I belong," you had told me.

I choose to think of those days now, the memory warming me for a few moments. But it's not that bad, I promise. I'm merely tired now.

I saw for the first time a woman die today. I think it was the biggest shock I have ever experienced and for a moment, I thought only that I might not endure this and abandon you and the children to madness. The one thought of us being together tore me back to reality as I watched her fall, thinking only that I wished to be in your arms once more. I don't know why she was killed, only that a bullet can slice through a human skull much more quickly than you could imagine.

My letter has become bittersweet so I will end it on this note. When you had begged me to marry you, chasing me through the streets in your desperation, I could have lost you if I had wanted. I always was faster than you.

Shayna

Shayna,

Your letters, though rare nowadays, are the light of my life. Sometimes I catch myself inhaling the paper, trying to get just the faintest scent of you before it is clogged once more with the smell of oil and burnt human flesh.

By now, you are well aware of the atrocities committed at Auschwitz so I can no longer white lie my way through letters. I have seen more lives end than I have seen them begin even as my years of being a doctor progress. Fear not though, my expertise as a physician saves me daily from death as they are greatly needed here.

Night is my only time to myself, as the hours pass through the day with more and more victims and less and less that ever leave my facility. As you write your letters, I smile up at the moon through the pane of my window, wondering if at times you glance at it as well. And as I sleep, I dream of our times together, waking some mornings to see tear tracks left on the shoulder blade of the man who shares the bunk with me and five others.

It is your warmth I feel through his shirt and which calms me in the horrifying moments of each day. I didn't lie when I said the labor was low, as I do not take much part in the work load outside. But it is hard. Kiss the children for me, I fear for Shahar's strength sometimes. Do you suppose he takes too much upon himself regarding the girls?

Selig

Selig,

Fear no longer for your children Selig. They have met with others of their kind in a far better place than this. Shahar was the last to go, the girls not being strong enough in light of the disease and starvation that has now plagued us in the winter months. Forgive me for the lateness of this letter as I had avoided telling you. I tell you now only to reassure you that I still live, if only for your love.

Shayna

My darling wife,

I cannot force tears in light of the news you have given me. I cannot even feel remorse that our children are gone. They thrive together now in a place much warmer than this one and their struggles are over. Perhaps it is heartless to think that I am glad I have only one person left to fear for.

I dream of you now nightly, our conversations ranging from 'how are you' to long forgotten memories. I believe I have fallen ill, yet the delirium allows me thoughts and dates and times long forgotten by the human mind. I recall things now that I could not have recalled a year before, however crucial they seem to me in these moments.

I remember the first day we had woken up together after our wedding night. You had tried so hard to cook for me, though you have never been that good my love, you know it. You burnt your hand on that cheap, ancient stove, crying my name so loudly that I had tumbled horribly down the stairs, crawling on all fours to the kitchen where you held your burnt palm out. I had thought for certain a burglar had been in the house by how frantic you sounded, yet there you remained, hand singed lightly by the black furnace we called a stove. And you had said "you're there" as if you expected for some reason I wouldn't be.

I will always be here with you Shayna. Love can grow stronger than any concentration camp, can overwhelm any cruelties. Our love will break these barriers and shatter these chains. Love is stronger than death Shayna. Fear for me never because I am always beside you.

Selig

Selig,

I know you have fallen ill by the lateness of your letter and I pray for you nightly. No, my faith has not faded husband. God sees us and through him, I feel as though I can communicate my love to you. Time and distance between us, I feel that even death itself is a poor enemy. I do not fear death as I once did. I don't think I can any longer as I have surrendered my children to it. It is a wonder how misery and fear can make even the strongest moan for the release that only a shallow grave can give.

They tattooed our arms a long time ago, yet I looked at the black ink today with distinct passiveness. We can never be slaves to men, Selig. They can never tag and brand us like animals. Bruised skin is all they will ever have and the fragileness of a human body is a poor consolation for the soul I long ago surrendered to you.

Tattoo every inch of my skin, I say. These arms were created by God to hold you within them.

I saw a woman drown her child in a trough today, holding him under with cruel, unfeeling eyes. I was horrified. Yet despite the whispers from the other women occupying my cabin, I could only think that she had done him justice. Perhaps she had shown him the greatest love she could have. She let him go.

I think now that despite all else, I could let you go Selig. I try to see this world around me as anything but the harsh reality that it is. This place doesn't deserve you, my love. If you must go, I will follow you.

Soar on the wings of angels Selig, love is stronger then death.

Shayna

My love,

I seem unable to shake this cold yet I am certain it will break soon enough. At first I had feared it was the plague yet the symptoms don't seem to match. Do not fear for me Shayna, I will be well soon. The spring months approach and there is talk that this could all be over within weeks.

I try to think of how our reunion will be. Will you run into my arms? Will I have the strength to catch you? I fear sometimes that you won't even recognize this skeleton, this bag of bones that nearly resembles a human. I looked into a water basin the other morning and could barely see my old face in the reflection. Yet I know you are still beautiful Shayna, I don't think you could be anything other than that. I don't think you're capable of it.

But I do believe we will see each other again soon. Maybe we will meet on that beach that now seems so far away. Yes, let's meet there and draw pictures in the sand again until the waves wash over us. I love you Shayna. I love you and I love you and I love you.

This love can bust down the walls of any concentration camp. We are together me and you. In fact, we never left, did we? As the warm waves of air drift in, signaling spring, I feel your arms wrap around me. I sleep beside you and feel your hair in my face. And the children are merely downstairs, safe and warm in their beds. And tomorrow, we'll have a spontaneous picnic, bathing in the sun beneath a tree. All of us.

In my dreams that no longer wait for sleep, I see you Shayna. My beautiful one. Did you know that I loved you from the moment I saw you? I knew I would marry you even if it meant soaking trousers I had saved up a month's salary just to buy for such an occasion. I see you now and smell your horrible cooking. It is a far cry better than the thin, pea broth they serve to us now.

You whisper sweet things to me some days. Your words are louder than the screams from the ovens. It is amazing that in a place like this something like love can grow stronger then ever. But it isn't hardship that makes me feel this strongly; merely the memories that I use to escape it.

I will mail this letter out and then go to sleep beside you. I leave you only with these words my dear one. A place like this, a concentration camp….. this can never contain something like love.

Selig

Selig,

I knew from your last letter that you had grown seriously ill. I knew it was coming. I heard today that the main doctor at Auschwitz had died. But you aren't dead, are you? You are not lying in a deep grave of a thousand people, burning away. That's merely a tired body of a former physician.

It didn't take passive reports of soldiers to tell me your spirit had ridden itself of your body. I knew it. As I worked out in the fields, peeling blackened pieces of frost bitten skin from my knuckles, I felt you go. It was the first time I had seen the sun in months. As it broke through the clouds, I think we all just stopped whatever we were doing to look into it. There might have even been a rainbow somewhere.

It was the first time I let myself cry since the children died. Tears of joy, Selig. Your journey is over. And mine begins. I found you once in this chaotic world and I can do it again. You said in your last letter that love can never be contained by a concentration camp. That it could bust down the walls. I don't think it ever had to. It merely reached through them, spanning over distance and time. There might have been oceans between us yet it wouldn't have mattered. And now worlds? A weak impediment.

I want you to know now that I don't regret any of the choices I made. The years with you were worth any time spent in a concentration camp. This? This is pathetic and petty cruelty. It pales in comparison to the mornings I awoke next to you. I would suffer a thousand years of this if it meant I could wake up one more time with you drowning in my hair, untangling it from your face and laughing through a kiss. I promise you, I would suffer through this a million more days if I could see you one last time.

But I won't have to. There is now rampant talk of freedom and I actually believe it this time. I could cry that you had almost made it, that we'd been so close. But maybe it's for the best. We proved what we needed to, Selig. We proved that this could never break us. We never stopped fighting.

Bodies can get sick and die but souls can never be broken. Each weak beat of my tired heart is just one more reminder that I will see you soon. We will picnic in that sand, watching our children build castles that will eventually be whisked away by the waves of the ocean. I will draw those pictures for you Selig, I know how much you loved them. And you will talk of building a house nearby, that business is thriving and that nothing is impossible.

And maybe this is what it took to remind me of that. If you had asked me a few years ago, could I endure this, I don't know what the answer would have been. I never knew I had the strength to fight so hard until I had a reason to do it. You gave me the strength, Selig. Every time I raised that shovel, digging into frozen dirt, it was the thoughts of you that gave my heart the strength to do it one more time. Every time I vomited up my meager portions of food, it was you that picked me up and got me to work again.

I laugh now. Silly Nazis, how they tried so hard and yet achieved nothing. You can never diminish the human soul if it has a reason to keep fighting. We won my love! But then, we don't know how to fail.

And so I say goodbye for now, my dearest, my love, my only one. Goodbye and goodbye and goodbye. I will see you again soon.

But for tonight, I will rest my head against my pillow and whisper words until I fall asleep. The most beautiful words I've ever heard anyone say. The closest to my heart.

To you…. I belong.

Shayna /i 

Trunks looked up, eyes brimming with tears he hadn't even acknowledged, trying to blink them back.

"Why..." He swallowed, wiping at his eyes with his palm. "Why did she write him a letter when she knew he was gone?"

Mirai looked down at him with something akin to pity, breathing a sigh. 

"Because to her he never could die." He whispered. "They killed her the next day."


	24. Chapter 24

"We have to Trunks," Mirai said, holding the device. "Now think of Goten."

The other stared, contemplating ways to get out of the predicament he'd found himself in.

"I can't Mirai, not right now." He shook his head. "I... I just...I can't deal with all this ok?"

He turned, his fingertips to his forehead as he prepared to fly, to escape the valley they had landed in and be free of Mirai. A hard hand landed on his shoulder, steel-like fingers gripping his collar bone.

"Oh no you don't Trunks," Mirai's hard voice spoke, his face serious. "You actually think after all this I'm going to watch you run back to your little fantasy life? You think after all my efforts, I'm going to let you coware back to your drugs, just to forget everything you've learned?"

Trunks gazed into his eyes, searching his mind for some sort of excuse; searching for a way to convince Mirai that wasn't his intention, even though both knew it was.

"I have shown you love," Mirai said in a slightly softer voice. "I've shown you it now in three dramatic forms. Loss, obsession and triumph. Now I'm going to show you what happens when you turn your back on it."

They shared a moment of silence, Mirai simply waiting for Trunks to comply with the inevitable. Finally, with a sigh, Trunks' broke their gaze, eyes lingering on the ground as he nodded.

"Good." Mirai spoke. "Now... think of Goten. Think of him Trunks. Think of him on that day."

And Trunks could only think of one day; the worst day of his life.

The memory exploded around them, soft grass beneath the soles of their shoes and a sunset breaking forth across the sky. Everything was golden kissed, orange and yellow. So much beauty for such an ugly day, Trunks could only think to himself.

His eyes caught sight of Goten, as he had been on that day, standing a safe distance from the Trunks of memory, eyes fixed upon the other's. The soft, warm breeze had trickled through his bangs, blowing the black threads over his eyes occasionally. But other than that, neither moved.

Goten just stood there, staring at him, no emotions playing over his facial features. Trunks in the memory, looked harsh and cold, a veritable monster with his arms crossed painfully tight over his chest, eyes glaring at the younger Saiyan.

Mirai winced slightly at the contrast between the two, the soft, pliant features of Goten verses the icy, steely stare of the prince. How could Goten seem so calm, so understanding beneath such scrutiny?

Goten knew though. He'd known for long enough it was coming. Did that help numb the pain? Did that preparation snuff out the burning inside his chest? No. There was understanding in the young Saiyan's eyes, a wisdom learned from experience rather than time. There wasn't a need for words between them. They didn't need the choked out "it's over" or the dramatic "we're through". The look on Trunk's face was enough proof of the inevitable.

"I'm going to miss you," Goten breathed, watching as rays from the sun kissed every strand of the other's hair. Trunks and Mirai looked at each other, both sets of eyes going directly to the scene.

"No you're not." Trunks said in an icy voice. "You're going to forget me. And I'm going to forget you. That's the way it's going to be. As it should."

Goten only shook his head, covering his face with his hands for a brief second as if exasperated.

"God, why do you make it so hard?" He sighed, staring at the sky. "You think by being invincible you're making it easier for me. Like your meanness ever had a distancing effect on me Trunks. You could never push me away with it. It only draws people towards you."

The purple hair danced in the wind, Trunks just shrugging with a grin.

"Don't I already know that?"

"Yes, Trunks," The black hair sunk as Goten hung his head slightly. "Your victims, your victories. You ought to adore me. I'm your masterpiece Trunks. I'm you greatest triumph yet. I fell just as hard as everyone."

He turned to the side, facing towards the distant mountains and watching as the sun faded. He smiled slightly, realizing the metaphoric nature of it all. With each passing moment, the light faded, dying out, snuffed like a candle. A gradual inevitability. Was that why Trunks could never allow himself to love? The inevitable end that sent you staring off through tears at mountains, mourning that the sun has to die away at the end of the day?

"But I loved you more than them," He smiled sadly. "I will always love you more than they can."

Trunks visibly tensed, swallowing hard.

"Shut up."

But it seemed as though Goten hadn't heard the cruelty of the words, still smiling softly.

"They will forever be falling for a dream and me?" He said, turning towards his former friend. "I'll forever be a slave to the nightmare. They can see you as whatever you want to show them Trunks. But remember, I fell in love with the man, not the ideal."

A silence past between them, the words gradually dawning on Trunks as he stood there speechless, watching shadows very slowly creep across the ground. He moved only so slightly, seemingly wanting to grab Goten suddenly; only his damnable pride keeping him there.

"I don't want to forget Trunks," Goten whispered, barely audible enough for the other Saiyan to hear. "The good times, the bad times, I want them both, however unequal. I always wondered what it meant to really love someone and I'm realizing it now. I think I know what it means. It's to not let go, Trunks."

The ice prince just stood there, his deameanor only slightly changed by rapid blinking, as if trying to keep down heat that built in his eyes.

"It's to not WANT to let go. That's what it is." Goten smiled. "It's the acknowledgment of how much pain you're in. It's the acceptance of tears. And it's the ability to realize that both are worth every single second you had together. Good or bad times, however uneven, are worth crying over later. You say I should forget like you will, but I refuse to. You made me happy Trunks and I don't want you to forget that. You'll inflict more pain on others. You'll break more hearts. But for one second of each day, maybe, try to think of how much good you've done too."

"Don't be stupid," Trunks growled, beating down the infuriating sting in his eyes.

"You poured color into my life Trunks," The words were chocked. "You made everything more beautiful. You. Not some lie. Not some charming heir to billions. You. Don't ever forget, it doesn't take a façade for someone to love you."

The current Trunks stood there watching himself, watching as he remembered the feelings he'd had at the time. The wanting to move but not. The wanting to say something but remaining silent. He swallowed, unable to look at Mirai.

"Why'd you do it Trunks?" the other asked him. "Why'd you let him go like that?"

Trunks tried to right himself, tried to blink down the burning sensation in his own eyes.

"I had my reasons.."

"Bullshit Trunks, BULLSHIT!," Mirai suddenly screamed, pushing the other violently. "You always pretend to be on some higher level, so ABOVE everyone else. The truth is, you're JUST LIKE them!" His voice became cold. "Only, you're too big of a fucking coward to admit it. You're not some higher being, you're just too fucking afraid to let yourself feel so you pretend like you don't need it."

Trunks refused to look in his eyes, refused to retaliate the attack, instead walking towards Goten, frozen, it seemed, in time.

"Yeah, you love," Mirai said angrily behind him. "you get hurt. Love sucks, we all know it. You love then you get your shit torn to pieces than you put it back together and you try again; and again if you have to. But just because you're too piss in your pants afraid to experience it doesn't mean that you should just cut yourself off from everything."

Trunks felt the other's hand on his shoulder, but somehow, couldn't register the warmth in it, eyes glued to the dark hair.

"Bodies can be so strong, they can." Mirai reassured him, attempting to calm himself. "But they fade Trunks; eventually, we all fade and our bodies die. Strength of the body can only go so far. But love? That is boundless! That is limitless. And you are wasting your life away because you're too afraid to feel anything other than detachment. It's fucking pathetic."

Despite the cruelty in Mirai's words, Trunks felt only numbness, or perhaps, just a coldness that rose into his body, hardening him. A thickness rose to his throat and he struggled to swallow it down.

"You LET him go when you knew you loved him." Mirai whispered behind him as the other walked towards Goten. "You let him go thinking that you didn't give a damn about him and you know what's even more pathetic? You did the same with yourself. You LOVED for the first time in your life. You loved something stronger than you've ever loved yourself and you let it go. You broke it before you even gave it the chance."

It was as if the words suddenly cracked his surface, stinging like salt in a wound. Trunks ran towards Goten, grabbing at an illusion and feeling anger and despair well within him. The beautiful face that had long ago been the only thing that could melt the coldness now sat before him, a long ago reminder of so many irrectifiable mistakes. And that face was sobbing.

"He's crying..." he whispered. "why is he crying? Mirai, he never cried."

"How could you have seen with his back turned to you and your mind on don't-give-a-shit mode? Maybe you just didn't want to see it."

Eyelids closed over burning eyes, the first tear in so long escaping between quivering lashes, unhindered. Trunks caught it in his palm, staring in disbelief that something so cold as his own heart could have produced it. His lips began to shake and more tears began to gather and fall down his cheeks.

"Oh God…" He suddenly bawled, startling Mirai. The older version stared at him in astonishment, watching tears fall as if there were no end to them. It was almost as though it wasn't even happening, the vision so unbelievable.

"Watch this part Trunks…." Mirai whispered, not to be deterred. "This is your favorite part remember?"

Goten stood there shaking, the memory unable to see the tears that fell from Trunks eyes as the man stood before him.

"You're teaching him a lesson now, you're making him feel." Mirai spat coldly. "Aren't you proud? Don't you see? He's your masterpiece Trunks."

"I love you," Goten whispered in a moment that shattered the exterior that Trunks had long ago built. "I'm always going to."

"No," Trunks sobbed suddenly, trying desperately to wipe at Goten's face. "Don't cry. Oh God, please don't cry."

He crashed to his knees, grabbing at hands that weren't there as he screamed in madness.

"Goten!" he wailed, voice breaking with the pitch. "I'm so sorry. God! I'm so sorry!"

He cried out when the memory couldn't hear him, couldn't see him; taking to the sky and fading into it. Trunks fell foward onto his elbows, banging at the ground with his fist while he sobbed, shoulders shaking violently.

"I'm so sorry," he cried into the grass beneath his lips. "God, I am so so sorry."

He looked up with pouring, red eyes, seeing himself standing there like a granite statue. Seeing the memory Trunks just standing there and watching the sky as if nothing had just happened. As if he hadn't just lost the most important person in his life.

"Go!" He screamed at himself uselessly, entire body shaking. "Go after him God damn it!"

He jumped to his feet, running aimlessly at the memory that was himself, colliding with nothing and falling once more to the ground. He laid there in defeat, sobbing until his chest burned, eyes beginning to feel as though they were bleeding, leaving trails of crimson down his soaked cheeks. He just cried as though there was nothing else to do, until it felt as though he'd cried his soul out of his body, his face imbedded in grass that didn't exist, in a world he'd just ruined.

"You can't change the past." Mirai said sadly, leaning down beside the other man. "You can't effect what you already did. I only brought you here to learn from it. To remember it in the way that you won't allow yourself to."

It was as though Trunks couldn't even hear him, staring off towards the distance that Goten had disappeared into. A soft sob occasionally made its way forth from his body, his eyes red-rimmed as he stared.

"It's not too late Trunks," Mirai whispered gently. "You can still save yourself. You can still go after him. Goten isn't dead."

Trunks lips had become a dark red, cracked and dry. His eyes looked worn and tired, tear tracks running in lines down his tan cheeks. 

"I remember how I felt that day," He breathed so quietly Mirai had to strain to hear him. "I remember how I felt that day and I remember thinking that I never wanted to feel that way again." He swallowed. "That much pain and regret. That much sadness. But I was a fool," He shook his head, biting his lip to hold back a sob. "because I have felt that way every single day since."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I just wanted to say thank you so much to all those that have been reading and to the reviewers that have encouraged me SOOOO much lately. I've actually begun to write a real novel and since I haven't posted it anywhere, it's been really difficult to find motivation to keep going. I have been both touched and inspired by you. I find myself rereading some of the supportive and kind reviews, in awe that people would go out of their way just to make a stranger's just a little bit better.**

**You all have been my driving force through some tough times I've been pushing through lately and if I could hug some of you, I totally would. I'm not a big believer in God but if there is one, I hope he/she blesses you guys. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.**

**Camaro**

Trunks knelt on the ground, breathing coarsely through a raw throat. His eyes were packed with tears, red-rimmed with spidery veins as his chest lurched for air. His ruby, plump lips pulsated with the intense breathing, slightly parted as he gazed through a fog at his surroundings.

The world had once more changed, the sky becoming dark as the memory faded and Mirai closed down the program. Gray and black clouds stretched low over the sky, rain coming in light torrents from time to time. Mist and fog had rose from the ground around his knees, yet he stayed steadily in his place, watching as the sun crossed over in the distance, peering through peep-holes in the sky and making every ray that much more beautiful as they kissed the hills and mountains beneath.

Yet, the rain still dripped down where he sat, the sky dark in his little portion of the world.

Mirai stood by, the ever present constant in his life, watching as the hang-over and drug withdrawal were pressed into the farthest reaches of his depression, his memories of Goten much more bruising than their impact could ever be. The temperature had dramatically fallen, cold rain drenching the locks of his bangs and soaking into the sleeves of his arms that laid out to the side.

An hour pressed upon them, yet he didn't move, cold blue eyes gazing at shadows that fell like droplets over his world. Everything came back. Every touch, every movement, every slide of warm flesh that pressed over his own. Every whisper from that familiar voice that could melt the coldness that crept into his heart. Every smile, every gaze from dark eyes that crushed icy-ness and demanding nothing more than him. Him. Simple him. The man that made mistakes, the man that sometimes didn't have all the cash in the world on him. The man that sometimes felt like shit, and didn't want to always go out and party his life away.

Goten hadn't minded the man that sometimes slept too late into the day, or wanted to stay up too late at night talking about useless things. Goten didn't mind morning breath or inevitable vomiting, or laughing too loud or crying or falling asleep to movies, or listening to music that didn't always pulsate with a nauseating and repetitive beat.

But Goten had loved that man. The man that he was. The man that didn't do so many drugs that it aged his insides double fold. Goten didn't need a persona or a facade or an endless party.

Goten had just wanted Trunks.

And he'd let that slip away. The one person, as Mirai had said, that had loved him ---the real him--- he'd let slip away because he was too in love with the idea of living life. Instead, he'd faced death and depression for his sacrifice, for his inevitable obsession with living the ideal life. The life that magazines promised him was the greatest way to live had damn near cost him everything. The life that rock stars and movie stars and every free spirit in the world tells you is the life to live.. had nearly killed him. The glitter and the glam that clashed with everything that he'd once loved.

Ashes remained of a reckless lifestyle and regrets and memories were the last things he could cling to. And he was sickened by it.

Four long wasted years.

"So what now wonder boy?" Mirai taunted, ripping through the silence. "My end of the bargain is through. I showed you love, I showed you loss, I showed you sacrifice and I showed you what you needed to see. Every end of my promise is fulfilled isn't it?"

He moved to kneel by Trunks, his body radiating no kindness or warmth, simple coldness and animosity.

"You had something you wanted, my little Ice King, my adoring brat prince," He touched his fingers to move Trunks' face towards him. "take it."

Trunks swallowed, too hazed to recall what Mirai was even talking about.

"Your original mission," Mirai mocked. "Your millionth fantasy. Me."

As if to seal the deal, he harshly pressed his mouth to Trunks', enveloping the plump bottom lip between his teeth.

"You wanted to fuck me Trunks," he laughed coldly. "Nows you're chance. Fuck me wonderboy, if that's what you want."

He pushed his hand against Trunks' chest, trying to move him downwards to straddle the other's body. Callused hands moved harshly over Trunks' front, his shirt being nearly torn at in Mirai's detached haste.

"Fuck me asshole," Mirai spat. "That's all you are isn't it? That's all you ever want."

He tugged his fingers painfully into Trunks' hair as he bruised his lips with his own.

"That's all there is to you huh?" He grinned against the other mouth. "All you're worth, all you're good at. Show me your one purpose, your one talent. It's all you're good for anyways."

His fingers yanked at Trunks' pants button, threatening to dive downwards.

"NO!" Trunks finally gasped, pushing with all his might against Mirai who fell backwards across the grass. He stared in astonishment at the older man, unable to fathom the change in the other. "God..." he breathed harshly. "No!"

His gaze met the other's who's eyes glistened with victory at this refusal. He almost shook his head in astonishment. It had been precisely what Mirai had wanted.

"Good," Mirai breathed with a small grin. "Then throw this life away as you have me. Push away the thousands that will worship you and go to the one that will actually love you. But forget this life Trunks. Forget this waste and find something with value. Love him Trunks. Love him with obsession if you need to, love him with sacrifice and love him endlessly and forever. But throw away this lifestyle. It isn't really life at all."

He stood up, gazing down with something that could resemble pride, helping the other to his feet.

"I've shown you loss and I've shown you obsession and I've shown you love." He spoke. "You're going to encounter all three on this new journey of yours. But don't gaze back in the past and fall into the trap it sets. Don't look at these four years and think that you're missing out. Remember what it nearly cost you and hope to God that somehow, you can win him back. Because in all your life, he's going to be the greatest thing that will ever happen to you. He's never going to look at you and see something that isn't there, the way that you have to this life."

He embraced the other, tugging the tired body tightly against his own.

"You listen to me ok?" He whispered. "You tell him how you feel, you tell him the truth... and I promise you Trunks, someday, you'll awaken with him in your arms again. You're going to wake up in a warm bed with the sun shining in your eyes and I promise you, he's going to be right beside you still asleep. And I promise, if you tell him how you feel, he'll stay there forever."

They held each other, Mirai's fingers wrapped around the short locks of Trunks' hair, massaging the back of his head as he breathed against the older version's chest, sighing out four years of heartache.

"You're a drug addict Trunks," Mirai breathed. "I could never have come to you if you weren't. I could never look into your eyes this way and pity you if you weren't so induced with them. Throw them away for him ok? For yourself even. They can't give you the love that he can and they can't promise you the things that I have."

Trunks nodded in his arms, face still pressed against his throat.

"This world won't last Trunks," Mirai whispered, "and I can't stay here any longer."

Trunks wrenched himself away, staring in disbelief and horror at what the other spoke.

"You mean..." He spat. "you're leaving?"

"Yes." Mirai answered simply. "I have to Trunks. I don't belong here."

"But...Where will you go?" He stuttered. "Back to your time? To what Mirai? There's nothing there but a world of corpses. You... You could die if you go back there."

Mirai laughed slightly, shaking his head.

"I won't die kid, trust me on that. But I don't belong here. I can't stay forever. This is your time now, your adventures to begin. I merely came to warn you."

He paused, weighing his words before speaking again. "Trunks, listen to me. Listen careful. The virus..." He paused again, looking upwards. "The virus can't be cured. It can't be stopped."

"Sure it can," Trunks interrupted. "My mothers probably working on it as we speak."

"Trunks, shhh..." Mirai told him, using his name to silence the other. "There IS no cure. The vaccines that were distributed worldwide contain a dormant stream of the virus that eventually awakens. There is no immunity to it. There is no battling of wills with the virus. At least not on a human level. No immune system is able to combat the inevitable awakening and thousands will die within the first few minutes, millions and then eventually, billions following after. Even if you were to move the entire world to a different planet, the virus would spread perhaps only that much quicker."

"But the dragon balls!" Trunks insisted.

"The dragon balls do not take part in human mortality." Mirai told him solemnly. "I already tried. It's a natural thing Trunks. Overpopulation eventually takes its toll and the race needs to be redistributed. It's a natural preservation of the planet."

"I won't accept that," Trunks shook his head in horror. "I... I won't accept this as natural, as inevitable! There MUST be a way. There MUST be survivors!"

"Again, we have things in common." Mirai smiled. "I believe that a Saiyan can survive it. Your mother now is feeling its effects, though for years, it will still remain dormant. You smell the death on her, the weakening of her heart, the toiling she feels as it works feverishly to continue. In my world, she would have had longer, but though it works quickly in some, it is a slower process with others that eventually spreads to the population. Bare her no ill-will Trunks. She will unknowingly spread the disease to everyone in your family until their dormant, viral cells are awakened and the process is heightened by their youth. Everyone close to her will be awakened and die. She is among the first victims. Make your peace with her quickly."

"But!" Trunks pressed. "There must be survivors! You said a Saiyan can make it."

"Of course," Mirai grinned. "I came here to not only warn you, but also to inspire you Trunks. You have to live."

Trunks was awestruck silent.

"I came here to make you love kiddo," Mirai smiled softly now. "I knew that with a strong Saiyan heart, you could live. But you had to have a reason to. Hearts don't just keep pumping if there isn't a reason enough to do so. You can't live purposelessly. Life cannot keep going if you haven't a reason to. Don't die Trunks," He breathed, touching his fingers against the other's cheek. "Don't die because your heart isn't strong enough to fight for life."

"Make peace with your world and with your inevitable fate. See the lives of those around you as as fragile as they are and show mercy and compassion to those you touch, knowing they wont be around long enough to make amends later. Touch and see everything as though its your last time to see or touch it. And love. Love above all other things and fight for that. Because perhaps my theory is wrong and you won't get another chance to test it. The dragon saw to that."

"What do you mean, 'the dragon saw to that'?" Trunks whispered, unable to think this through.

Mirai simply shook his head, ignoring the other.

"Say your sorries," He told him. "write your words as though you'll never get the chance again. Hug your mother and respect your father. Make peace with who you are and who you have now. Don't waste the time you have left and don't die. Fight with your love Trunks. Fight to live with it."

With that, Mirai pulled the other to him once again, absentmindedly fumbling a capsule from his pocket and tossing it to the ground. It blew out smoke, revealing a second later an old time-machine. Trunks gazed at it through blurry eyes, his face over Mirai's shoulder as he took in everything he was told.

"I won't forget." He told the other. "I'll do it. I promise you Mirai, I'll fight for him."

Mirai pulled back from the embrace, his hand cupping the moist cheek of his younger self. A beautiful smile reached his eyes before he closed them and pressed his lips to Trunks' once more. A sweet, chaste kiss before he pulled away and walked towards the large machine.

"Remember everything," He instructed. "And don't forget me."

With one more smile, he crawled into his ship, the glass oval top mechanically folding over him. He waved as Trunks forced a tight smile onto his face, returning the gesture as the old machine whirled to life.

"I won't forget you," He breathed, knowing Mirai couldn't hear. "I'll never forget you."

His eyes blinked with tears, blurry as he watched the machine slowly fade, having expected some sort of explosion or instant disappearing. But gradually, the machine faded from existence, Mirai waving and for but just a second, Trunks could have sworn he saw the grinning face of Gohan planted directly next to him. Blinking, he realized it was but a play on the glass, the last thing seen the word long ago painted across the side of the yellow metal.

The ironic word, "Hope."

The temperature had dipped beneath 30 degrees, what had once been rain turning to slushy snowflakes that chilled his body. Still he drove onwards, his ki signal flashing outwards so that Goten could feel him coming. Cold dread mixed with the falling snow and he swallowed hard, sorting out what he would say.

What could he say?

What words could possibly make up for four years of abandoment and more than twenty spent taking advantage of his younger friend? Could a few sorry's do it? He doubted it. Even Goten's benevolence knew a limit.

"I love you! I'm sorry!".

Yeah, the words rang true. He wouldn't deny that, despite his former disdain for them. Yet they dulled; yes, a perfect way to put it. They dulled the hurt and disappointment he'd rain upon Goten for years. From one drug to the next, one lie to another, one meaningless fuck to one more... his actions had taken their toll on Goten's forgiveness.

So what now?

For so long, he'd prided himself on predicting people. It was one of his greatest talents. The ability to see what was coming, to predict what defenses they'd use and how to overcome years of society's control over them. But society and taboos never really had any reign over Goten. Never. And it was just as appropriate to say, that in many ways, Goten was never gay at all. It was never about that for the younger Saiyan.

Goten believed in love. It was a perfect way to describe his endeavors in life. Perhaps, some of his father's naivety had rubbed off on his outlook on life, yet his mother's inherit intelligence had never caused that to waver. He believed in love above pleasure, above pain.. above everything. And he'd loved Trunks. It had never been about sex or the incessant need to pry away at each other. Though he'd always loved to fight and yes, loved sex when he had occasionally indulged in it, he kept both seperate from love.

It wasn't that he believed that sex and love couldn't be combined. No. It was just obvious to Trunks that while Goten loved him, he was also very aware of Trunks' uncanny ability to shut himself off to those he was so 'intimate' with.

Trunks could have been a girl, a boy, a eunach for God's sake--and Goten, would have loved him. It didn't matter, in fact, had nothing to do with gender at all. It was simple love though complete.

And now, as Trunks winced from the cold, fluctuating his energy to sybolize his intent upon landing, he knew that he relied soully on that love now. And as his feet touched down, several yards away from Goten's home, he prayed within himself that it still could be revived; no matter the beating he had bestowed so often upon it.

Goten was already standing outside of the meek house, his arms crossed and his face unreadable as the other landed. The cold wind wrapped around the locks of his bangs, blowing them sideways as flickering snowflakes gathered against his cheek. He just stood still over the snow covered ground, eyes gleaming with unreadable expression, white skin making the burgandy of his lips stand out. The veritable beauty that his bloodline had promised him before birth, silencing Trunks' chaotic mind.

He just stared for the moment, mind blank as he took in the scene, the gorgeous, stone figure that stared just as hard right back at him. What thoughts tangled Goten's mind, he wondered. What memories, good or bad, came back at the first glance he'd had of Trunks for years? Was there animosity that danced in deep, black eyes? Or just calm calculation?

Without a word, Goten moved to the side, his back slightly to Trunks as he walked out towards the snow-covered field a ways from his home. His movements were calm and he seemed to glide so effortlessly over the slushy surface of the ground. Every strain of his muscles was languide and almost liquid-like, so graceful and yet not intended to be so. Trunks was simply transfixed by it, forgetting his vexation for the moment and indulging in his very instinctual fascination with the other man.

The scenery itself seemed so appropriate to Goten's nature, chaotic and even a tad harsh, yet mezmerizing. Something a million painters could spend eternity trying to recreate, yet something that, in itself, could never be represented on paper. His dark clothing clashed with the grays of the world, his fashionable knee-lengthed black jacket harsh against the falling snow, his hands in his pockets and the collar lifted over his neck. Black eyes scanned the ground as he walked, ignoring Trunks as the other followed him, silently moving over the snow behind.

They continued quietly, neither acknowledging or speaking a word to the other, moving onward in contemplation of their own thoughts.

Finally Goten stopped, head held up as he stood at the peak of a cliff, the land far below stretching out for miles and miles of white covered pine trees. His back kept towards Trunks until the other stood a safe distance away, swallowing hard as he sorted out his words.

"Goten... I..."

"No." The other snapped, turning quickly towards him, his finger held out warningly. "Don't you utter even another word, you hear me?"

Trunks was shocked silently, his bottom lip meeting with his top as he nodded.

"I've listened to enough speeches of yours for a lifetime," Goten spat cruelly, eyes looking as though they could spontaneously combust at any moment. "And now, you're going to hear ME out for once. I've waited four long years to say these things and I don't intend to be interupted."

He glared at Trunks for a moment, all calmness and decency thrown to the way side as he pointed downwards, gesturing violently.

"How... DARE you treat me like that?!" He hissed, eyes wild. "How FUCKING DARE you treat me like some... some PET? Some dog to be beckoned and then tossed aside at random!? You have some fucking nerve coming here after all the shit you pulled. And believe me when I say, everything you're about to hear has been a long time coming."

Trunks cringed and braced himself--- for some odd reason, not having predicted such animalistic behavior from Goten.

"You are ... by far..." Goten started, prolonging the words for emphasis. "The most selfish, narcissistic piece of shit I have ever known. You come and you go as though you own the world and every single person in it. You're a fucking monster Trunks: a vain, horrible, single-minded nymphomaniac. You inflict on everyone else precisely what you feel inside. You detach yourself because you're too God damn afraid to be hurt the way you hurt everyone else in your life.

"And HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!" He screamed. "How FUCKING DARE YOU look me in my face after sleeping with both my father and my brother?! How can you even stand there, thinking you have any business even coming NEAR me after what you did?! Ah but isn't that half your appeal, you thoughtless ingrate? Your sheer gall and inability to accept ANY acknowledgment of your actions. You don't even care do you?"

"Goten... I..." Trunks stammered, eyes on the ground until he was literally smashed into it, his face swelling from a punch he'd never even seen. Goten's reflexes had been lightening quick, crunching his knuckles into Trunks' cheek and currently pushing the base of his foot against the other's asophagus as Trunks lay bleeding on the snow.

"I believe I said no interuptions." Goten threatened with deadly seriousness. "In fact, I'm positive I did."

Trunks just gawked up in disbelief, choking down blood that pooled in his throat from his teeth grinding into his cheek when it was hit.

"I'm not some mary sue character Trunks," Goten promised. "I'm not some meager, childish fool that follows you blindly and forgives your faults with ease. And I'm not about to forget after this day or the next. I don't care why you came here and I'm not even certain I intend for you to leave after what you've done. So tread lightly around me prince. Or did you forget so easily that I'm Saiyan?

"Did your pathetic mind so graciously overlook the fact that I'm a person, as it did all those years ago only too often? Did you think that I mulled over the past for four years and held no animosity towards you? Don't deify me Trunks." He whispered wickedly. "Don't see me and think I'm incapable of hating you. Because believe me... that would be a great underestimation on your part."

He let his foot off the other's throat, the pads of his shoe crunching against the snow next to Trunks' head.

"Did you ever regret the things you did?" Goten's facial expressions lightened only a bit. "Did you ever think twice before you knelt on concrete in front of a stranger? Did you ever see my face when you gazed into their eyes before fucking them without a second thought? Did you feel sorry even once Trunks? Did you cry, did you mourn, did you sweat blood and tears when you realized I'd known all along? Or did it make it that much easier, realizing that I accepted your mistakes, even took care of you after them?"

He looked away for a moment, trying to compose himself before tears began to gather at the bottom lashes of his eyes.

"Did you even miss me?" He whispered, bottom lip jerking slightly before he glared down in rage and hatred. "God Trunks!"

He violently grabbed the collar of Trunks' shirt, hoisting the other slightly off the ground as he screamed.

"I was your BEST FRIEND!" He cried. "I was the ONLY person that took care of you, that thought of you, that loved you for who you were! If you had only asked it, I would have crawled to the ends of the earth! I would have torn the skin from my body if it would have made you love me!"

He threw the other to the ground again, disgusted.

"But nothing, NOTHING I did could melt you." He looked away. "Nothing could stop you from straying when even the slightest chance was available. Was I... Was I so terrible?"

He let a few tears slid down his cold cheeks, beading on his chin as he refused to look into the other's eyes.

"Why couldn't you feel Trunks," He whispered to the chilled wind. "Why couldn't I make you love me?"

He paused for a moment before shaking his head.

"But no," he said, gazing down. "I'm tired of blaming myself for your shortcomings. Enough of it. You couldn't love me because you're incapable of loving anyone besides yourself. Stay in love with who you are forever Trunks. I grace you with that wish. Love yourself until you rot to ashes, because I'm not going to do it for you."

Trunks stared upwards, his chest rising and falling as he sucked in the cold air. He wanted so badly to speak, to cry, to do anything to stop this rampage of cruel words that he knew he deserved. More than anything, he wanted the strength to suddenly move and embrace the other, to do anything to comfort the pained beauty that glared down at him in exasperation.

Goten let out a sigh, head hanging.

"I'm tired Trunks." He breathed. "I'm tired of loving you. I'm tired of hating you. I'm tired of thinking about you in the morning and I'm tired of dreaming about you at night. I'm tired of seeing your face on the looks of strangers and I'm tired of fantasizing that there's something still there that never really existed at all. I was just entertainment to you." He swallowed hard, looking upwards for a moment. "A game. A sort of sport that ... that was conveniant. But I'm tired Trunks. I'm tired in every part of myself. I ache everywhere and I don't know how to make it stop. So I'm saying goodbye again with the hopes that you'll never come here... ever."

Trunks just gazed up at him, wanting so bad to shake his head, to insist against everything the other had said.

"I have to move on with my life," Goten sighed. "And I'm NOT doing it. I just.. keep holding on to day dreams. And that's not life for me Trunks. I can't waste away the short time I have left in this world hoping I can spend it with you. That's not life. That's living in a dream world. I have to move on and YOU have to let me. So don't ever come here again."

He moved away, letting Trunks crawl to his feet.

"I want you to listen to me when I say this and I pray for both our sake's that it means something to you and ... " He clenched his jaw. "And that you'll honor it, if only out of decency for me."

He put his hand on Trunks' shoulder for a brief instance, staring deeply into his eyes.

"I never... ever..." He said slowly. "want to see you again."


	26. Chapter 26

Trunks just stared up in disbelief. What he had expected to happen? Really?

He shook his head, realizing, he hadn't really thought about what he'd say but especially, not what Goten would say. It was one of the first times he'd been truly taken back by someone: the ultimate shock-effect he'd always strived for himself. His mouth tasted foul, his tongue dry against the roof of his gums. Unpredictable behavior left him completely out of sorts, his body on high alert for another of Goten's attacks.

Four years had taken a toll of bitterness that even he hadn't figured they would. The physical beauty that had always reigned over Goten was in full swing, his maturity having blessed him with chiseled and defined features, his posture more dignified. But inside? Everything had changed. Hardened by time and detachment, Goten was now the one member in his family that completely and totally differentiated from the others. He wasn't naive like Goku, nor entirely tainted by humanity like Gohan. There was no weakness that could tame him like Gohan and yet, he was completely unlike Goku's childish abandonment of responsibility.

He was his own person now, no longer tied to Trunks. Free from everything except his lingering attachment to what had happened four years before.

But he was harder now; stronger.

And maybe, in all of Trunks egoism, he hadn't counted on that. Maybe, he realized, he'd expected the same exact person that had been so in love with him four years ago. Maybe, that's precisely what he'd wanted. The fantastical part of him had wanted this to be a tearful, explosion of a reunion; Goten flying into his arms as though nothing had changed and everything could be ultimately forgiven in five minutes.

Now? The world was unpredictable.

"You're right," Trunks panted. "I am an asshole. I am a piece of shit for what I did."

Goten turned and looked at him curiously, probably having expected Trunks to either remain silent, or spit out some pathetic attonement or justification for what he'd done. Trunks hoisted himself up with his elbow on his knee, standing tall to match Goten's eyes with his own.

"And I can't change that part of my past Goten. I can't." He continued. "I want to.. I look back and I cringe, yeah. But I CAN'T change that I did that."

Goten just stared hard, eyes squinted as he tried to figure what could spawn such honesty from a usually devious person. Perhaps, he was trying to see the ulterior motives behind this confession, behind Trunks' arrival at all. Having felt the approaching presence, he had purposely hardened himself, expecting just about anything. Trunks would never have come with good news. Someone had either died, someone had come to kill them all, the world was ending or needed to be saved. Nothing short of catastrophe would have sent the bastard his way.

Regardless of that fact, and regardless of whatever motives spurned the prince onward, words that had long since built themselves within Goten, nevertheless, NEEDED to be said. He had waited far too long to speak his mind and no matter WHAT the reason, Trunks was there and he damn well was going to release four years of pent up frustration. 

He had earned that.

Yet this change in events was startling. No foreshadowing dilemmas to contend with, it seemed that Trunks had come for one purpose. To talk.

And having said what he'd wanted to, Goten now stood, hard and fast, stuck in his little world of embitterment and unable to grasp just what was happening. Did Trunks REALLY say what he had? That he looked back and cringed? Like he regretted something for the first time in his unapologetic life?

"What I did?" Trunks interrupted his calculating. "That's a part of me now, as much as you are."

Goten just stared.

"But..." Trunks swallowed, struggling with his words. "But I HAVE changed. I wish I could show you that."

He gestured towards himself.

"I wish that outwardly, there was some sort of variable that would prove to you that four years has aged me, that time has made me think. That even the last few weeks have altered me." He shrugged. "But there isn't. I look like the same man that did that to you, but I'm NOT him Goten. I'm still gonna fuck up, I'm still going to hurt you, I'm still going to constantly disappoint people. But I HAVE changed. Please believe, I've changed."

"No Trunks," Goten said harshly. "You haven't. You're precisely the same man you were four years ago." He continued. "A spoiled little brat begging and wanting the same old thing. The ONE thing you can't have."

Trunks' face fell.

"Well fuck that." Goten snapped. "I won't be your little trophy rich boy."

"Goten no!" Trunks pleaded. "God, just... STOP!"

The other glared.

"Just..." Trunks shook his head. "Stop hardening yourself. Stop... stop making yourself so cold."

"Stop." Goten chuckled with no humor. "Precisely what I asked you a THOUSAND times before."

"FOUR YEARS AGO!" Trunks cried out, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Things CAN change Goten."

"Things can," the other agreed. "People can. But not you. Never YOU Trunks."

Trunks hung his head, feeling entirely defeated. The other was right. Maybe he couldn't change. Maybe all of this ... maybe it was all for nothing. A lesson learned and to be forgotten later. Maybe he ought to just leave, to forget by the bottom of a shot glass.

He raised his head, blinking hard at that way of thinking. No. Not again. Never again. He wouldn't numb himself from this. Yeah, it hurt. It hurt like hell to be told the precise truth of the pain he'd inflicted. It hurt like hell to see how harsh Goten had become; how the sweet naivety had left his kind, soft demeanor and how he now stood like a granite statue, nothing betrayed behind cruel eyes.

But the ultimate truth was? Despite the pain of knowledge, he far preferred it over numbness. Too many years feeling nothing now made him crave reaction of any kind. And it would only prove everyone right if he bowed down to his addictive habits once again, forgetting EVERYTHING Mirai had tried so hard to teach him.

"I don't know what to do," He breathed softly. "I can't say anything to make you understand. And that isn't your fault," He admitted. "And I can't blame you for it. In fact, I completely understand it. But at the same time, ... No Goten. You're wrong. I have changed."

The sincerity in Trunks' voice sliced away at layers of rock-hard ice, Goten's firm resolve to say goodbye slowly peeling away.

"I feel like I'm falling apart over here," Trunks looked upwards. "I feel like for the first time in so long, I don't know what to do. I don't have all the answers, I don't have all the words to convey what I feel. But I DO feel now. And I think that's a damn good indication that who I was so long ago... that man is dead. In fact," He looked at Goten. "I want so badly to just dive into drugs right now that I'm literally shaking with it. I'm suffering nasty fucking withdrawal and you know what? I keep thinking that maybe if I just took a pill or take a line or whatever, that I'm gonna forget this feeling of uncertainty and everything will be better. And you know the sick part? That's probably true."

Goten remained silent.

"But the thing is," Trunks spoke. "I don't WANT to make it go away. If this is punishment for the way I treated you, by all means, do it. Turn away and hate me. I deserve worse. But if this is your way of punishing yourself AND me... by..." His features turned disgusted. "by turning yourself completely off from everything and everyone around you, than believe me, it doesn't WORK."

He paused, trying so hard to find the right words.

"I am ... SO sorry," he breathed. "For what I did to you. But Goten, I CAN'T make it right. I can't bounce in a time machine like Mirai and take away all the shit I put you through."

An odd expression crossed Goten's face but he said nothing.

"I can only promise you that I've changed." Trunks swallowed. "And the way you feel about me ---the dreams, the fantasies-- don't have to. I want them to be a reality, now more than ever."

The other stared forcefully, switching his weight to the one foot closest to Trunks.

"You want to fuck me?" He asked boldly.

Trunks just stared at him oddly, blinking fast. No, he indeed had not anticipated that one. The snow crossed over Goten's features, his silence putting Trunks on edge.

"Well..." He blinked. "yes."

He shrugged.

"Of course I do," He said thoughtfully, honestly. "I always have. I know you'll hate to hear it and to be honest, I fucking hate saying it, but Goten, the truth has always been that your brother and Goku were just my consolation for the fact that I couldn't have you. I know that doesn't justify anything and I don't even want it to but it's the way it is."

The storm suddenly picked up, the snow becoming blindingly thick around them. Goten shook his head, pointing his finger at Trunks.

"Fuck you Trunks," He spat, turning away. "Fuck you."

Trunks bolted forward, spinning Goten around by his shoulders. The other's face was a mask of rage, his eyebrows knit and powerlevel sky-rocketing until he saw Trunks' expression. All violence was forgotten, Trunks' face now void of its usual coldness and his desperation apparent in every portion of his features.

"Goten," he breathed in a shaky voice. "I don't know what I can say to you."

The younger Saiyan just stared at him, swallowing down his rage and embitterment. He looked down, the snow clinging to his bangs as he gently took Trunks' hand from his shoulder.

"Than don't say anything." he said simply, turning away once more to walk towards his house.

Frustration built within Trunks, every fiber in his body on fire as he threw his arms out.

"GOD!" He screamed. "What do you want me to do Goten?! DIE?! Cut myself?! Bleed for you?!"

He fell downwards, landing on his knees.

"Is this what you need to see? Huh?" He cried out arms outspread. "Here I am!"

His voice broke as he pleaded, tears suddenly building in his eyes.

"This is me bleeding for you!" He cried, lips purple from the cold. "This is me down on my knees... needing you to see me! Needing you to see that I am NOT the man I was before! And praying you won't turn away this time."

Goten stared at him, bottom lip quivering and chin wrinkling as he strove to contain his emotions. He looked upwards, blinking back his own tears.

"Look into my eyes Goten," Trunks sobbed finally, chest giving out as he collapsed with his arms around himself. "Look me in my eyes and tell me I don't love you!"

The snow piled around his knees as he shook with sobs, hot tears pouring down his face.

"Tell me that you don't see my blindness, that you don't understand how this encompasses me enough to wish it away." He looked in disgust at his hands. "To ... to drug myself so that I ... just so that I could forget you. Tell me it Goten!" He bawled. "Tell me I don't love you! Free me with lies if you intend to deny me."

"I'm sorry," Goten whispered, entire body trembling. "But I just can't. I can't Trunks." He looked up into the gray sky, snow flakes gathering on his cheeks. "For the good of us both, God, I just can't do it."

He turned away, walking from Trunks with tears gathering in his own eyes.

Trunks stared at Goten's back in horror, arms holding himself too tightly as he watched the other go. Go for the second and the last time. It felt like there was a blade literally slicing his body in two pieces. Like being stabbed and the knife twisted in place.

"Go then!" he screamed roughly, banging his fists into the snow. "Fucking GO! Leave it all! Leave and be a FUCKING COWARD GOTEN!"

He was screaming so hard veins protruded from his red neck and forehead, tears angrily springing from his eyes.

"Fucking BE LIKE ME!"

He collapsed on his elbows, burying his face against the snow. Goten had stopped in his tracks, not turning around.

"But I'm warning you," He gasped, glaring up ruthlessly. "I swear if you turn away now, don't EVER expect me to..."

He stopped, his chest moving hard with his strained breathing. He traced the outline of Goten's impressive frame with blurry eyes, swallowing down his broken pride.

"No," He shook his head. "I won't even say it. It's not the truth is it? I'm going to be here forever Goten."

The other suddenly turned to look at him, eyebrows tilted in disbelief.

"I'm going to be just like this," Trunks promised, still on his knees. "I'm going to be here until the day I die alone. Here in this moment, perpetually kneeling and begging with every portion of my heart that you could still love me; that we aren't just," He let out a sob. "just shadows passing alone in a dank world."

He swallowed.

"I'm going to stay in this moment, forever waiting for you."

Tears fell down Goten's cheeks and he let out a hurt sigh.

"You know what Goten," Trunks suddenly laughed with a sob, throwing his arms out to the sides. "'You're all I really need. I love you now and I'm going to every day after this."

Goten cringed, recalling the words he'd wanted to hear for so long. His chest tightened as he closed his eyes to the memory.

"You set me free." Trunks whispered, arms falling to the ground in defeat. "You set me free."

Goten faced him suddenly, face drawn with emotion.

"Not me." He said. "You don't set me free."

Trunks breathed hard, still staring upwards.

"I have been a slave of my love for you for far too long asshole," Goten said sternly before a slight smile broke out on his face. "And after four years, I doubt now is the time to open the cage doors."

With that, he tackled Trunks, their knees digging into the earth as they hugged one another furiously. Trunks bawled, crying as though he hadn't in four years; sobbing away the loneliness and the drug addiction and the sadness and all the mistakes that he'd packed so feverishly into the years without Goten. They held each other as though their lives depended on their closeness, their bodies wracked with their sobs.

Tears fell like the snowflakes, an odd ray of sun breaking through the thick clouds, and the world suddenly encased in snowflakes and dim sunshine.

"I am so sorry baby," Trunks cried out to the sky, as he yanked Goten even tighter to his chest. "God, I am SO sorry."

Sunlight filtered through the falling snow, the odd occurrence lasting for several moments as panted breaths and sobs were all that could be heard.

"You know," Goten sobbed, laughing slightly. "You're going to be making this up to me for a lot longer than four years you piece of shit."

They both laughed, gazing at the odd world of dim sunlight and rapidly falling snow.

"I hope so," Trunks sighed. "God... I hope so."

Trunks walked calmly through the same old halls of Capsule Corp, the same white walls on either side of his same old body.

But everything had changed.

His posture, rather than the crouching readiness it usually held, was softer and calmer, his footsteps gentle over the tiled flooring. The features of his face were smoother as well, his eyebrows tucked thoughtfully over his lashes as he contemplated why it felt like he'd just dove into an entirely different world.

EVERYTHING was different suddenly.

From the colors that he saw to the taste of the air. Everything was more beautiful and now, recalling what Mirai had told him, everything was also temporary.

While Mirai's hardship had come so early in his life, Trunks' realized, his own was about to begin. The world he saw now and even the world that drug addiction had showed him, was about to crumble. Everyone he knew, everyone he'd meet until then, would die. And it wasn't something his mind was prepared to deal with. While his love for Goten at the moment sustained an incredible happiness, he knew that what lay ahead would be tormenting.

The old part of him wanted to dwell in drug abuse simply to drown out the realistic doom they would all soon meet.

Everyone around him was already carrying the dormant virus, only to be awakened at some unknown time. He had known better than to ask specifics of Mirai. More than likely, all time and dates were already altered by Mirai's trip back.

_ i "__Touch and see everything as though it's your last time to see or touch it." /i _He heard Mirai's voice echo in his memory.

He gazed around his new world, seeing every crevice and crack and bend and consistency as though he'd never see them before. The roughness of the walls against his fingertips felt like painted kisses of time, his eyes opened as if in rebirth. He knew that right then, he was seeing things he'd never see again. The beauty in life was stressed as he realized that everything we see and do in life was a temporary gift. That every breath he took, was the only one that would ever feel and taste like that one. That every ray of sunlight that peeked through cloudy skies, was perhaps the last of its kind he'd ever see.

He closed his eyes, understanding that even the thoughts in his head and the memories written down in the book of his life, would perhaps, never be there again.

And that... everything in that moment was precious.

He gazed out a window for a passing second, seeing the vastness of the sky as though it was something the approaching night would sweep up, never to be seen again. Everything was so much more beautiful now that he knew its mortality. And he also understood, days of taking everything for granted, were over. He didn't have that commodity anymore; time simply wouldn't allow it.

"Trunks," A hoarse voice came from the slightly open door near him. He turned, walking steadily toward the noises of hushed sobs, gray streaked blue hair over a table top as he pressed open the door.

Bulma sat, face buried in her forearms as she cried over the counter, small, fragile shoulders shaking with her efforts. Trunks took only a moment to take in his surroundings, the sliding glass door behind his mother revealing the beautiful pink and yellow sky, the room itself rather boring. Bulma had since glanced up, eyes red-rimmed as she took him in.

"Trunks," she repeated, an odd expression on her face. "you look different."

He smiled softly, noting that only a mother like her would have been able to take a thirty-second glance at her son and see a dramatic difference in him. While he had so long taken for granted his time with her, she on the other hand, saw and took note of every feature, line and contour of him. She knew her son, perhaps in ways that he didn't even know himself. He had to admire her for that, though he'd never even realized it before.

And it dawned on him, oddly enough, just how beautiful she still was; perhaps, how beautiful she would always be. The coldness of her piercing blue eyes was in itself, an enigma. Harsh blue surrounded imploring pupils, yet he'd never felt any sort of iciness in that stark contrast. Dramatic features in her had never felt intimidating, as perhaps they had been to those who didn't know her. No. She had always seeped with warmth, as though even when she was standing five feet away, it was almost as though she was hugging him.

Her smile, though very tiny at the moment, and jaded by the tears on her cheeks, warmed him even more so. He couldn't look at her the same in this world, free of withdrawals that made him irritable with her, free of the bitterness towards life that had made him cruel and detached towards her. She wouldn't be a constant in his life for much longer. He saw her through the eyes that would watch her die. An acute pain started in his chest at the fact that he would someday soon have to hold her hand and say goodbye to her. 

He knew that someday, her face wasn't going to smile at him like this but would go void of expression as her eyes took in the last moments of her life. He knew that someday, he would stand next to his brave father, the father that loved her more dearly than anything in this world, and they would watch her coffin go beneath the ground.

He suddenly saw her mortality and the cruelty of reality itself.

And he understood, that made her possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

_ i "Make peace with your world and with your inevitable fate. See the lives of those around you as as fragile as they are and show mercy and compassion to those you touch, knowing they wont be around long enough to make amends later."_ /i 

He nodded silently to himself, sending out a promise to Mirai, wherever he was.

"You've changed," She whispered, her kind voice calming his sudden sadness. He just nodded in response, unable to look into her eyes anymore. It was almost too overwhelming to see her like this, to feel such a harsh love for her. Maybe, he wondered, that was how his father must have seen her every single day.

Unable to contend with the emotion he was feeling, he walked behind the counter, grabbing her up in the fiercest hug her body could sustain, pressing her tightly to him.

"I love you mom." He said simply. "I love you."

Her body was hard for but an instant as she took the words in, going entirely pliant as she sobbed. Her arms wrapped firmly around his throat, holding him much stronger than he ever thought she could, her face hot and wet against his throat.

"Oh... Trunks." She bawled, wrapping her fingers in his hair.

"I love you so much," He breathed, trying to suppress any tears of his own.

She pulled back, gazing into his face and laying both her hands on either side of it. 

"I love you more than anything in the world," She sighed, pressing her forehead against his. "I always have."

"I know," He whispered. "I know mom."

He hugged her to him again, sharing this moment that seemed perfect. How had he been so stupid to think that drugs could give him this sort of happiness? It seemed suddenly absurd. The sunlight ripped through the windows, the sun's position in the sky perfect as it peeped through the glass and engulfed them. He just closed his eyes to it, his face against the crook of her shoulder as he sighed, thanking God for her.

He wouldn't take advantage anymore, he realized. He would share as many more of these as he could before she left the world. He promised himself that.

"Trunks," she gently pulled away from him. "what are you doing today?"

He laughed at the commonness of the question, how trivial it had always struck him and yet now, how... interesting it was.

"Damn," he shrugged. "I guess... I don't know."

She smiled up at him, raising an eyebrow.

"That's a first." She mused.

He nodded in agreement, his previous days always packed with a thousand sick details he seldom spared her.

"I guess," He said slowly. "I thought maybe we could take lunch somewhere. Your favorite restaraunt?"

"Sure!" She beamed, almost looking she'd soon be bouncing up and down, clapping her hands. "There's even a new waiter. And he's got a great ass Trunks!"

"MOM!" He laughed, blushing slightly. He even tucked his hand behind his head before he realized what he was doing, laughing in embarrassment at her. "Sheesh! I don't think Goten would have liked that comment."

Her facial expression became even more excited, her eyebrow high.

"Goten?" She asked, her head creeping to one side.

"Yeah," He looked down, grinning shyly.

She gazed up at him in wonderment, shaking her head.

"What an odd day this has been," She mused, her features going from exuberant to almost pained in an instant. He became confused, sitting next to her and gesturing for her to join him. She remained quiet for a few moments, swallowing hard as she sorted over thoughts he'd never know.

"Trunks," She breathed, pushing back tears as she tried her best to be calm. "Gohan is dead."

His happiness was quickly shattered by her words, his face going pale. It seemed the room itself went suddenly cold, Bulma nodding as he took it in.

"Vegeta found him," She said softly, eyes on the floor. "He killed himself."

"I..." Trunks struggled to breathe. "I could have sworn I saw him...I ..."

Bulma gave him time, the quietness only cut occasionally by his muffled gasps and hard swallows.

"V-.. dad is back?" He looked up after a minute, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. He suddenly wanted his father to be next to him, to help him deal with this revelation in a way that Bulma couldn't. As much as he'd always mused that Goku and Vegeta had an emotional understanding that no one else could fathom, so, he and the Saiyan Prince shared a bond that no one else would ever grasp. He suddenly needed that logical coldness that would help him deal sensibly with this.

Bulma expected him to mourn and though that was an option, he suddenly really just wanted to be near his dad: the one person that would probably understand every emotion and process he was undergoing.

"Yes," Bulma answered him. "He just came back a few hours ago. He needed to talk to Gohan when he found him. He..." she looked down, compressing her own sadness. "he didn't say much. I don't think he was very surprised."

Trunks just nodded, trying to hold himself in check.

"There is something else," She gestured for him to sit, the realization dawning on him that he wasn't. He hadn't even remembered getting up. "Something that you might not care about but ..."

She let herself trail off, blinking hard.

"Where... where did dad go?" He asked, suddenly grasping that there was something of very real importance going on. Something that had probably been going on for weeks.

Bulma thought hard for a second, the pause making Trunks ancy.

"Your father had a dream, a while back." She started. "Two of them in fact. He... he went to sleep, had an odd dream, and found that he'd basically flown from the gravity chamber to outside the restaurant where me and you were eating that day."

"That's... really weird." Trunks commented, failing to see the importance.

"You could say that." She nodded. "He ignored it, forgetting about it until...until I had a dream very similar to his. I swore I'd been having a conversation with," She faltered. "with someone there was no way I could be having a conversation with. I didn't even tell your father. I just thought I was being... OLD or something. But when Goten AND Gohan spoke to him..." She trailed off.

Trunks was certain his brain was about to implode upon itself, his head shaking to calm the chaos. 

"I don't understand." He admitted. "what's going on?"

"They all swore they'd had conversations with... " She stared hard at him. "with Mirai Trunks."

He just stared at her, blinking.

"Yeahhh?" He shrugged, failing once more to see the point. Mirai had been there for weeks, probably HAD spoken with all of them. What was the big deal about that?

"Trunks," Bulma looked at him seriously. "your father took the old time machine to Mirai's timeline to find him. Trunks, Mirai has..." She gritted her teeth. "Mirai has been dead for weeks."

He was on the floor, the chair still clattering next to him. He didn't even know he'd fallen. Just a crash and a clatter and a bright, hot light that landed him here. Bulma was beside him, shaking his wrist as he was planted on his hands and knees.

"Trunks!" It sounded like she was underwater. "Trunks baby!"

He shook his head, trying to push away the cloudiness of unconsciousness. How could it be? Was everyone insane? Had something gone wrong in his new world?

"Trunks," She was still trying to get his attention, her arms around his throat. "I'm sorry baby."

He breathed, decided quickly that was his only sane option.

"I'm sorry Trunks," Her voice became clearer as he focused on it. "It was a heart-virus. It killed everyone. He... He just wasn't strong enough baby."

He shook his head again, falling to his elbows, his chin on the ground.

"His heart just wasn't strong enough."

THE END


End file.
